A/N: Let's talk about how these dumb boys got together.

Song: "Youth," by Troye Sivan.

Woody does a pretty good job keeping his head up throughout the day, but somehow he gives it away when Mike shows up. He's sitting outside the back door, pizza box in lap, iPhone on the step by his leg, and his ninja pal takes one look at him and says, "Woah. You okay?"

Heckin' ninjas. He considers brushing it off—lord knows Mike has enough on his plate—but the orange-banded turtle is watching him with attentive blue eyes, an interest that will edge into worry soon if Woody doesn't start talking. And maybe, a little bit, he wants to get this thing off his chest.

"My girl broke up with me last night," he replies, and watches Mike's expression do something interesting. Blank incomprehension bleeds into surprise, and then sympathy, and then annoyance, and finally settles on a frown.

"That's so dumb. Why'd she do that?"

"Some junk about goin' in different directions. To be fair, she's goin' upstate for school next semester, so it's like—I dunno, a little warnin' would have been choice."

And he's bummed, because she was a cool girl. Clever as hell, funny, incredible brown eyes. She wasn't "the one," but Woody had thought they were headed somewhere nice.

"I've never dated anybody, but like, you could have Skyped and stuff," Mike says, and he has literally zero real life experience when it comes to relationships, but he sits on the cold ground in front of Woody, tailor-style, and does his best to be helpful. "And there's always Facetime. And phone calls. And road trips! You could totally have made it work."

"I guess she wasn't interested in making it work," Woody tells him, and fails at not sounding glum. "She didn't even break up with me in person, she did it over the phone. In a text."

And the annoyance is back on Mike's face. He leans forward, bracing his elbows on the concrete to look into Woody's face very seriously.

"That's really lame. You deserved way better than that, dude." It makes Woody grin a little, but apparently a little isn't enough, because Mike gestures grandly with one arm. "I'm serious! You're a real catch, anyone'd be lucky to go on a date with you!"

And the way he says it rings sort of naive—he's young, a teenager by human standards, and he says it the way people do whose only understanding of a date is what they've gleaned from countless romcoms and daytime television.

Still, Woody can't help but be warmed by him, by the kind of person he is. "That so?" he asks playfully, and Mike misses the joke; nods twice, rapid-fire.

"Definitely! I mean, I'd love to, for sure."

Which wasn't what Woody was expecting to hear. Wasn't what Mike was expecting to say, if the look of stunned surprise on his face is any indication. His eyes are wide and lamplike in the dark, and he's ninja still, gauging Woody's reaction—doesn't know if that was an okay thing to say, as new as he is to human friendship.

So Woody smiles through the turtle's unwitting bombshell and means it when he says, "Well, thanks, amigo. I appreciate that."

Mikey relaxes with a wide, grateful smile, and climbs smoothly to his feet. As awkward as he might be sometimes in conversation, he always moves like a piece of music.

"I better get home. Leo's cranky about curfew. But you can call me if you wanna talk about stuff. Or text me." He grins. "Or Skype. Or Facetime."

"I'm glad I know you're willing to make this relationship work, Mikester," Woody says solemnly, and stands to hand over the pizza box. "Get this home to your bros before they eat the upholstery or somethin'. And thanks for—y'know."

"Sure!" Mikey's eyes are a cheerful ocean blue in the faint glow of the struggling streetlight, the freckles on his cheek crinkled with the strength of his smile, and he waves once before he slips into deeper shadow and disappears.

And it's a much happier Woody who ducks back into the warmth of the pizzeria, lingering in the back long enough to hang up his coat and clock in from break.

He just got out of a semi-serious relationship, and he's not looking for a rebound. But if Mikey's willing to be patient with him—and Woody knows him well enough to guess that he probably is—then maybe the two of them could turn their pretty epic bromance into the kind of thing sappy movies are about.

Woody pulls out his phone and sends a quick text.

You free to hang out Saturday night?

The answer comes ten minutes later, a string of exclamation points and emojis that he translates into "yes."