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It's like a siren call in the back of his mind, despite the years that have passed since he last gave in to temptation.
As soon as he wakes up, it's there under his skin. Thrumming. Humming. Singing him a song full of promises.
He doesn't have an ex, but he imagines the urge to call one to be a bit like this.
"It'll be different this time."
"Maybe they've changed."
"No one else understands me like that."
The words are empty. Intellectually he knows this. It'll be just the same as it always was.
Sometimes he resents Raphael for the way his brother is able to let his anger out so easily. Shouting, punching, cursing, acting out.
But he's not the eldest. Those actions are the prerogative of younger brothers.
Leonardo can't afford to let himself break down the same way. Instead he shoves the rage down, uses it to bury the overwhelming guilt that would otherwise swallow him whole.
Except on days like today.
When he's so painfully reminded of the ways in which he's failed.
The days when he can't look any of his brothers in the eyes without it threatening to spill out.
And it can't be allowed to swallow them too.
He'd sooner die.
On days like today, sleep is a welcome reprieve.
"Depression naps," is what Donatello calls it.
But Leonardo knows depression. That's also the prerogative of younger brothers. It's Michelangelo unable to get out of bed. Unable to make it to the shower. Crying into hugs.
Leo's not depressed.
He'd made it out of bed, led all of them through practice and meditation. Been first in-and-out of the shower.
And he can't remember the last time he cried.
Therefore he's not depressed.
Just tired. Bone-tired.
Last night was a bad night.
For Donatello.
All of them had been woken up by the sound of the genius screaming.
Nightmare. Flashback.
Honestly whatever it's called doesn't matter.
The point is that his brother was taken from them yet again, even if only in his mind.
Taken and parts of him stolen never to be returned.
Because Leonardo had failed to keep him safe. And despite the years passed since, Donatello is still forced to pay for his failures.
Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder.
Another realm where the leader cannot reach.
Commanding officers don't deserve shell-shock. Not when they understood what they were doing and called the order anyway. This Leo knows.
His feet guide him from his room without conscious input. He's the closest he's been to a relapse since Master Splinter had found out about his…
"Habit," his father had called it.
Like Leonardo was a junkie.
And his father had been quick to impress upon him the nastiness of it. How it was unfitting of a leader. Showed a lack of self-control to give in to such an addiction.
So Leo had quit. For years, he's white-knuckled his way through sobriety. A dry drunk of his own making.
Thankfully none of his brothers have ever noticed what little evidence remains of his past indiscretions. For all the intimacies he and Raphael have indulged in, the hot-head has never questioned the faded scars. But, then again not even lovers spend that much time looking at the other's ankles.
Standing in the silent hallway, his heart beats rapidly within his chest. He's faced with a choice, he can follow the call and rummage through drawers until he finds something sharp to cut, but dull enough to hurt.
Or.
Or he can walk himself to the dojo.
He knows his mate is there. Letting out his rage and frustration on a punching bag. Shouting at ghosts because the fuckers who hurt their purple-banded brother are nothing more than memories now.
But he knows the walk to the dojo will be the easy part.
Once he's there, Raph will want to talk. His second-in-command will clock something unspoken on his face and pull it out of him. In messy ugly reaches into his leader's psyche.
Just the thought makes Leo shudder. No, no. Handling this on his own is the only answer.
Just this once, he can give in to temptation. In the grand scheme of things, what's a few minutes of private weakness?
Compared to dumping his bullshit on his brother's shoulders?
That's nothing.
Already it's almost impossible to believe he nearly took the mess in his head down to his mate. What the shell is wrong with him? How selfish can one turtle be?
Heart thundering in his ears. he begins the march to the bathroom. Just today. Just this one small reprieve. Surely he's allowed that much?
The sound of footsteps behind him causes him to freeze.
"Fearless?" Raphael's voice is uncharacteristically quiet.
"Yeah, Raph?" He answers fighting to keep his voice level. The decision has been made. It's too late to turn back now. Privately, he will atone for his failures and his brothers- his precious brothers will never have to know.
"Mikey wants ta' know if ya' planned on comin' down for dinner? He said he's makin' tamagoyaki an' miso."
The words are few, but they speak volumes. Michelangelo's worried about you. I'm worried about you. You never sleep this long. There's comfort food waiting- something you and Donatello both like.
It turns Leo's stomach.
He's not the one in need of comforting. He's not the one they should be worried about. Donatello is the one with screaming nightmares, Michelangelo's the one with depressive episodes and Raphael's the one who rages out with emotions he can't contain.
Leonardo's the one who broke them.
"No, no. I'm just gonna go take a shower. I'll come eat something later," he dismisses while avoiding his mate's searching gaze.
"Fearless, please… I know ya' ain't okay, but we're here. I'm here just waitin'. Please come talk to us," Raph urges making it sound so easy. Like all Leo has to do is take his brother's hand.
"I can't-" he answers. And for once he's being honest. If he tries to talk to them now, who knows what will come spilling out?
"Leo, please, do ya' need me ta' beg? 'Cause for this- for you, I will," Raph's voice cracks wetly as he cuts him off.
And that's the last thing Leo wants. To hear his proud beloved reduced to begging for anything. Especially not something he himself can give.
With shaking hands, he reaches out and lets himself be led.