After dinner that first night in the house, father tasked Raphael with setting up the fold-away cot in his room for Casey – which meant digging it out of storage in the basement, and lugging it up two flights of stairs. By the second floor landing, Raph was seriously rethinking ever inviting a guest home for the holidays, ever again.

Mikey still had a bunk bed in his childhood bedroom, with a twin-sized top and a double-sized bottom, so he and Woody had less set-up to do in regards to their sleeping arrangements and more time to argue who got which bunk and goof around and settle in.

As he passed Mikey's cracked door, Raphael overheard a bubble of conversation.

"Did you paint this?"

"What – oh. Uh, I forgot that stuff was up here."

Mikey had been a shy, subconscious thing growing up in their small town, and an ugly incident in high school with that creep Bradford had really done a number on him, left a mark on him for years.They'd been home for less than twenty-four hours and already the place was trying to slam a lid on the brand-new confidence Mikey had picked up while he was away – but it sounded like Woody wasn't going to let it go without a fight.

"I mean, yeah, I did, but that was awhileago," Mikey was saying, sounding almost exactly like he was twelve years old again, tentatively showing their patient father a newly finished canvas, like there was any chance he would be any less than a hundred percent proud. "Like, forever, practically. So it's really not my best –"

"Mikester, this is amazing." Raph stepped closer to the door, and he couldn't see what painting they were looking at, but he could make out the careful way Woody held the canvas at the edges, the slow sweep of his eyes as he drank it in. "I'm definitely gonna have to start sneaking into the art department at school more often, if this is the kind of painting you do there."

And Mikey lit up from the inside out, a pleased pride that burned away all those gray shadows of uncertainty in his face, and Raph couldn't help smiling as his closest sibling promised to show Woody his secret art studio in the old garage.

Woody nodded, and at some point his warm, wondering expression transitioned from the canvas to Michelangelo, but it didn't shift or change; as though one work of art was as good as another.

And that was when Raphael decided he'd seen enough. He stepped quietly away from the door, fixed his grip on the stupidly heavy cot, and continued down the hall. At least now he why Don kept looking at the two of them with that cat-ate-the-canary smile.

Shouldering open his door, Raph announced, "Next time you come over, you're bringing your own damn bed. I ain't haulin' this thing back up here for anybody."

He dropped into his computer chair, and watched Casey roll his eyes and drag himself upright, surrounded on all sides by his lazy unpacking. About that time, a knock on the open door drew Raph's eyes up to Donnie, who smiled crookedly at him from the doorway and said, "Someone's here to see you."

Huh.

He stood back up, every inch of his tired body protesting the whole way, and crossed the room. "I'll be right back," Raph said, and Casey flapped a hand noncommittally, looking largely unenchanted at the prospect of fighting with the cot when there was a comfortable bed all ready to go right behind him. Which prompted Raph to add, on his way out, "If you pass out in my bed, you're waking up on the floor."

"Rude."

Raph was grinning as they thumped down the stairs, and Donnie said, "Casey seems like a cool guy."

"He's really not."

"Aren't you precious. She's waiting for you on the porch."

That drew Raph up short, and he stopped hard right in front of the open front door as Donnie broke off toward the kitchen. She could really only be one person, and lead settled in the pit of Raph's stomach as he swallowed hard, and pushed open the screen door.

Shit.

"Raphael," Yelizaveta greeted him warmly as he stepped outside. "I heard you were back in town."

How? Raph wanted to ask, but his tongue was glued to the bottom of his mouth. She looked exactly like she did the last time Raph saw her—tall, and thick with muscle, and beautiful in a somewhat lethal way—and Raph had absolutely no idea what she was doing on his porch.

"Hey, Lisa," he said, trying to sound civil and mature and not hopelessly awkward. "How, uh—how have you been?"

Her smile faltered a little, and she looked down at her hands. "I've been fine. But I have missed you."

Oh.

"I've been thinking about those things I said to you, the day we broke up. I was harsh." But the contrition faded pretty quickly as she added, "You have been avoiding me. You haven't returned a single one of my phone calls."

That was because Mikey changed his cellphone number, and showed him how to block Lisa on Facebook. And Mikey had cupped his face in both hands, and tipped their foreheads together, and kindly told him to "stop being such an idiot, Raph." And Raph had taken that advice to heart.

When they first got together, he had thought Lisa was the best he'd ever have. He was convinced he didn't deserve her, because she was faster and stronger and smarter and better than him at generally everything. She wasn't a mean-spirited person—she was usually a lot of fun, especially to compete with—but she was stubborn, and as condescending as she was kind. They were on and off constantly all throughout high school, and Raph was always whipsawed back and forth between hurt and hope when he saw her.

Lisa dumped him for realwhen he made it clear UCLA was going to be a thing. Furious that he had put Mikey's opinion ahead of her own, unwilling to try to make a long-distance relationship of that magnitude work. And that had stung, but he figured it was fair—and the break-up was mostly mutual, and they went on their own separate ways.

Except here she was again. What was that about?

"Haven't you missed me at all?" Lisa asked him plainly, searching his face for something.

"Well, sure," Raph said slowly. "You were one of my best friends. It sucks that we stopped talking."

"Exactly. We've known each other since we were children, Raphael," she said, heartened by his answer. She was smiling in that pretty way that had earned her the yearbook nickname 'Mona Lisa,' a moniker that had stuck with her for years. "Both of our families, both of our lives are rooted here. And we dated all through high school, we had a good time with one another. It just makes sense for us to be together now."

'What would you do without me, Raphael?'

"I'll be inheriting my father's business soon," Lisa told him, holding his eyes. "I know what I want. And you and I make a pretty pair."

And she moved, one hand going to her pocket and the other reaching for Raph's arm, and Raph forgot how to breathe. Oh, holy shit, no way, no way, this wasn't happening, absolutely no way was this happening, holy—

"Raaaphie!" Mikey sang from the foyer, his thumping footsteps stilling Lisa's hands and pushing sweet air back into Raph's lungs. Not for the first time, he thanked god for his baby brother, and seized Mikey's timely interruption as a means of escape. Trying to look put-upon, he took a few steps back and reached for the screen door.

"That's Mikey. It's pretty crazy inside with the guests we have over, there's a hundred things to do—so I better get back. Sorry."

"Oh. Well, that's okay. I'll see you and your family tomorrow night at the country club; we can talk then."

Raph waited for Lisa to get into her car before he turned tail and ran.

"She said what?" Mikey squawked, watching Raph with wide eyes as the older of the two paced back and forth. His reaction was satisfying—if there was on thing in the world Raph could count on, it was his baby brother. "That's—I mean, that's insane. Right? After, what, four months, she just decides to walk back all that nasty stuff she said and then flat-out propose? Like that's a normal thing normal people do?"

"Wait, hold on," Casey said slowly, brow furrowed. "She's gonna ask you to marry her?"

And if that was seriously the only problem he had with the situation, Raph was going to punch him in the mouth. "I don't have time for your heteronormative bullshit right now, Jones, this is serious!" he snapped, and Casey held up his hands in surrender.

"Jesus, I was joking. I just don't see what the big deal is. I mean—she dumped you. You guys aren't a thing, you don't have a kid, you didn't sign any prenup. On what planet are you obligated to marry her?"

"I'm not. But I can't just tell her no. You have no idea what she's like. When she wants something, she just—goes at it till she gets it."

"Ugh," Mikey said, with feeling.

"And I mean, we dated for a long time. I don't want to—to, you know, hurt her feelings." Raph could feel his face turning red, and looked anywhere but at Casey, arms folded tightly across his chest. His roommate's bright eyes felt like a spotlight somehow, and Raph had absolutely no idea how to stand in one of those.

"Well, look, amigo," Woody interjected, smiling in that kind, easy way he always did, "the longer you wait, the harder it's going to be. The best thing you can do is be honest with her."

"We'll help you think of what to say," Mikey piped up immediately. "We'll roleplay. Casey, you be Lisa."

"Hell yes."

"Hell no. Woody's right." Raph rubbed a hand through his hair, and sighed. "I'll just be straight with her. I'll tell her tomorrow night."

The rich breakfast spread of chicken fried steak and gravy, bacon, fried eggs and hashbrowns made something in the pit of Raph's chest twist as he sat down. There was something about the familiar smell, and the warmth and light of the open dining room, and sitting surrounded on all sides by his family, that calmed the storm of anxious dread in the back of his brain that Lisa had put there the night before.

Father, sitting at the head of the table, put down his fork and frowned.

"Michelangelo, I forgot the biscuits. Would you mind getting them? They're in a basket on the kitchen counter."

"Sure," Mikey said agreeably, scooting back from the table. Raph caught the tail-end of a knowing look as it passed between Don and Leo, and gave them both the fish-eye; but anything he might have said was interrupted by the shriek of glee from the kitchen.

Father and Donnie both laughed, while Leo got up to pour a cup of coffee for the empty seat next to his. Oh, Raph realized.

"What," Casey said at length, through a mouthful of egg.

He had dozed off into his breakfast two times so far, and if it happened again, Raph was just going to let him sleep in a pile of gravy, father's disapproving stare notwithstanding. The rest of them were used to rising with the sun—their Californian friends, not so much. Woody was sound asleep upstairs, because according to Mikey "he doesn't eat breakfast," and "I promise he won't know English until noon."

"We have company," Raph replied dryly, watching him sidelong. Every stupid thing Casey did was impossibly charming somehow. What an asshole.

The dark-skinned man who came into the dining room at that point was as familiar as the rest of Raph's home was, and Raph smiled up at him like a knee-jerk reaction; breaking into a short laugh at the heavy hand that landed on his head, tousling his short hair.

Leatherhead had worked as a farmhand for Yoshi for as long as Raph could remember; he lived at their house, and celebrated their birthdays, and drove them to school when the roads were wrecked with rain and the schoolbus couldn't make it their way.

Mikey was wrapped around his shoulders like a giant koala, bright-faced with joy.

"I thought you were going home for Thanksgiving, Uncle L," he said, accusatory, and his voice trembled on the verge of tears in a way that would have put Raph on edge any other time. "That's what you told me on Facebook!"

"Those plans fell through," the man said simply enough. "So I thought I would surprise you." He reached up to tap Mikey on the forehead with a broad finger. "And besides, Michelangelo, this is myhome. You know that."

The sound Mikey made at that could best be described as "verbal keyboard mash," and from the doorway of the dining room, a pajama-clad Woody laughed quietly, kindly, behind his hand.

After breakfast, everyone had something to do. Don and Leo had friends to catch up with, and Mikey wanted to show Woody around town, so the four of them borrowed the truck for the day. Casey could have gone with them, but he seemed to stay true to his initial fascination with the farm, eagerly tailing Raph around the yard. He was in work-appropriate jeans and a T-shirt, hair pushed back by a folded black bandanna, and Raph carefully didn't look at him for too long at a time.

There was always work to be done around the house, always chores to be done around the yard, and Raph pointedly ignored their father's instructions to enjoy his vacation and relax. As much as he complained about it before, it felt strange to be home and will himself to ignore the hole in the goat pen, and the eggs in the henhouse, and the hungry pigs.

It was a little surreal how easily Casey settled into place, around the house and the farm. Like there was a slot left open for him, and he just slid right in, the perfect fit. Looking over at him—bare shoulders bumping Raph's as they shared a can of cold cream soda, bright hazel eyes and lopsided grin transplanted from the streets of L.A. to the sunny South Dakota country—felt natural.

Like he belonged there, wherever Raph was.

"Raph, holy shit," he said abruptly, going absolutely still. His tone had Raph on edge, following his line of sight—wondering for an absurd moment if he had seen a coyote or a fox stalking towards the chicken coop—until Casey added, very quietly, "What is that?" and Raph finally saw what he was looking at.

He rolled his eyes, setting the soda aside. "It's a sheep, dude."

"Fuck you, man, it's a baby. That's—holy shit, that's the cutest thing I've ever—I'm going in."

Raph grinned as his friend clambered over the wooden post fence, and hopped up after him once he made it gracelessly to the other side. Animal crackers crunched underfoot, a one-off treat for the fluffy, pampered pets of the family, and Raph had to smile at such stark evidence of Mikey having come and gone already.

Their family's Romney sheep were fat, lazy things, strictly reared for wool only, after an incident when Mikey was six, and the neighbors came by with some hogget cuts. They made the mistake of telling the youngest member of the Hamato clan where the meat had come from, and there wasn't a force on earth that could have calmed Raph's little brother after that. A tearful Mikey had refused to be budged from the barn, camping in the sheep stalls and clinging to his lambs, until their father coaxed him out with the solemn promise that they wouldn't eat any of the sheep.

The compromise was that he wasn't allowed to get attached to the chickens or the pigs. The system was still in place, all these years later, and Mikey avoided the hog enclosure to that very day.

In the shade of the overhang, near one of the mounted ventilation fans, a ewe was laying with her lamb. Casey was already talking cute nonsense at them, easing his way close enough to pet. It was the work of a few moments to get the lamb interested, and when the little thing fell asleep in his lap, he was beside himself.

"Raph, get my phone. Take a picture. Raph, what are you doing, take a picture!"

He recorded a video instead. Casey's 4G was struggling this far out in the country, but Raph uploaded the video to Facebook anyway; tagging all of his brothers, and a ton of their friends from school, and the feed was already blowing up as he handed Casey's phone back. Casey grinned at him, that lopsided, slanting thing that did something funny to Raph's stomach, and ran his fingers over the soft, springy wool on the little sheep's head.

"I freakin' love it here," he said. "Sure beats bein' alone in Cali. Thanks again, man."

"Shut up," Raph muttered, and hoped he'd be able to blame the sun for any stupid flush that might have filled his face.

The country club wasn't The Ritz Casey seemed to be expecting. It was where their family went for special occasions, but it wasn't at all exclusive—the only requirement was the small monthly membership fee. Essentially, it was just the nicest restaurant in town, and it wasn't odd to see every friend and neighbor there all in the same evening.

As a hostess led them to their usual table, Mikey was chatting with Woody and Uncle L, alight with the perpetual cheer he had adopted during his time in California. His bleach-blond hair was getting more than a few lingering looks, and it was fair, Raph thought, that these people who had known Mikey his whole life be a little surprised at such a stark change.

But there was nothing passive or cursory about the way Chris Bradford was staring at Raph's little brother. He leaned back in his chair to look around his mother as the Hamatos passed by, studying Mikey like a judge at a 4H contest. Leo noticed, maybe even before Raph did, and the glare he gave Chris could have withered fresh flowers.

It worked in turning Chris around, at least. Raph made a mental note to keep tabs on Mikey for the rest of the week—thinking sourly that it was just like Bradford to give him a reason to want to leave, when so far he'd been having a pretty good time being home.

Well, another reason, anyway.

Halfway through the breadbaskets, even before the servers started making the rounds with drinks, Woody's eyes strayed past Raph's shoulder and he choked over his glass of water.

"Wrong pipe?" Casey thumped him on the back helpfully.

"No, it's – " He looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Raph, turn around."

Raph turned around, and then wished he hadn't. Lisa was on her feet at the head of the room, beside the table where her parents and grandparents were sitting. She was raising a glass to make a toast, and the wide room fell silent in an agreeable way. Her eyes were on him.

"She's doing it now?" Mikey hissed, and Leo and Don stared at the group at the end of the table with raised eyebrows.

"What's going on, guys?" Don asked slowly. He looked like he wasn't sure if it was going to be a problem or a prank. Raph couldn't have answered even if he had any idea what to say. His mouth was hanging open uselessly.

"As you all know, Raphael and I have dated for almost five years now," Lisa started, her voice rising and filling the room. "And I think of you all as family, I considered it important to include you in this very special occasion."

"Woah," Leo said, very quietly. Father was absolutely still at the head of the table, watching Raphael as carefully as a mother bird, and Raph wanted to literally sink through the floor and disappear.

I was going to talk to her after dinner, he thought stupidly. Why couldn't she have waited until after dinner?

"Do something!" he heard Mikey whispering fiercely, followed by Casey's "What am I supposed to do?"

But before Lisa could even pull the ringbox out of her pocket, the chair next to Raphael's chair skidded back across the thin carpet, and Casey was on his feet.

"Right," he said, "that's right. Thanks, Lis'. What she means is, uh. That Raph and I have an announcement to make. To his whole town, for some reason." He floundered, then visibly rallied himself, and continued, "At school, I asked Raph to marry me. And he said yes." Casey turned to look at Raph's father at that point, apologetic. "No ring, 'cause we're both broke most of the time. Sorry."

And he sat down.

The entire room was dead silent for a full two minutes, and no one at Raph's table said a word. He could feel everyone's eyes on his shoulders, his family staring at him from around their table. Someone nudged his knee, and he scraped the bottom of the barrel for enough courage to lift his eyes.

"Congratulations?" Leo told him. It sounded like a question.

"Uh," he said eloquently. Very slowly, conversation throughout the rest of the dining room picked up again, and the world kept spinning. Lisa was gone, and there was no condemnation in his brothers' eyes.

He risked a look at Casey. Casey looked right back.

Swallowing, Raph found his voice. "Yeah. Thanks."