Preface

We Don't Share Well
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/16565261.

Rating:

Explicit

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Supernatural RPF

Relationship:

Misha Collins/Jared Padalecki

Character:

Jared Padalecki, Misha Collins, Jeffrey Dean Morgan, Jensen Ackles, Ruth Connell

Additional Tags:

Romance, Romantic Comedy, Hate at First Sight, Thanksgiving, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Human, Ballet Dancer Jared Padalecki, Yogi Misha Collins, Ballet, Yoga, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Language:

English

Collections:

2018 Supernatural Reversebang Challenge

Stats:

Published: 2018-11-09 Words: 9,555 Chapters: 2/2

We Don't Share Well

by fogsrollingin

Summary

Reverse bang fic with emmatheslayer!

Jared, a ballet teacher, and Misha, a yoga instructor, mix about as well as oil and water. Lucky they rarely have much to do with each other at the Morgan Fitness and Wellness Center, as Jared's studio is on the first floor and Misha's is upstairs.

Their luck runs out when the Morgans schedule second floor renovations that'll last for three months in the fall, forcing Jared to share his studio with the impossible yogi.

---

Head's up: everything is pretty much G-rated until you hit the epilogue. My artist wanted smut & damn it I'm giving it to her!

Notes

Reverse bangs are awesome! emmatheslayer is awesome! The home of the awesome art is right here - click this!

Thank you to my sister for beta-ing.

If you didn't catch it in the summary, the epilogue is the explicit sex scene - the whole story before it is like... G-rated romance.

<3 Alex (and YES I changed my pseud if anyone was wondering! I just wanted something a bit more anonymous :)

This fanwork has been posted to AO3.org, a website that databases fanworks for free & without ads. If you are told this fic is behind a paywall, that's super false and most definitely a scam. AO3 is a fanworks database run by the Organization for Transformative Works (OTW), a U.S. federal nonprofit. Please consider donating so they can keep the lights on in here 😊

See the end of the work for more notes

Chapter 1

“Yoga is a lazy, undisciplined practice that glorifies stretching, Jeff!” Jared insisted, moving from where he’d been leaning against the door jamb and into the chair in front of Jeff’s desk. “And meditation’s the same but it glorifies sitting.” Jeff leaned back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “And breathing, maybe,” Jared added for good measure.

Jeff frowned. “That’s… not… even a compelling argument. You’re just saying mean things now.”

“If I were saying mean things, they’d be about Misha,” Jared snapped. Jeff rolled his eyes.

“Extra half hour between your last ballet and his first yoga session. S’all I can give you.”

Jared shifted in his chair to reach his ratty messenger bag and get the altered schedule for September through November - three months of second floor renovations that had forced this studio-sharing situation in the first place. The only other studio on the first floor was Jared’s.

“Okay so that means I end at five and his yoga bumps up to six instead of five-thirty?”

“Yeah,” Jeff breathed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Misha will probably prefer it on the hour anyway, right? This is great,” Jared offered, his tone lessening in enthusiasm as he watched Jeff shake his head.

“Misha wanted it as early as possible.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I’ll talk to him,” Jeff sighed, then pointed at his ballet instructor. “But if Misha has a legitimate reason for wanting to start at five-thirty, you’re just gonna have to suck it up, you understand me?”

“Fine,” Jared groaned and smiled. He was pretty sure Misha wouldn’t have a good reason. It’d be something like: ‘the sun starts setting around five-thirty; it’s a mystical time of the day.’ And okay maybe Jared couldn’t see Misha saying exactly that but it was close enough and Jeffrey Dean Morgan, co-owner of the Morgan Fitness and Wellness Center and godsend that he was, wouldn’t buy it.

So this new schedule change would give him an hour to finish up and clear out of his studio before he could even witness Misha defile it with his woo-woo hippie crap. Jared thanked Jeff and made his way out of the man’s office.

“And hey, Jared!” Jared halted and turned. “None of that mean stuff about yoga, meditation, or Misha. That’s not appropriate and you know it,” he scolded. Jared slumped but nodded.

“I understand. You’re right,” Jared acknowledged honestly.

Jared had been working at the Center for two years and knew better. It was just that Misha had a habit of getting under his skin, grating on every pet peeve Jared had with what felt like a laser focus. He’d even caused the discovery of some that Jared hadn’t known.

It wasn’t as though Jared was some doormat that’d just cringe and take it every time either: he was sharp, articulate, and accustomed to shutting down any and all untoward remarks as fast as they were made… but Misha was just as quick. And together - almost as one about two weeks into being coworkers - they’d realized that if they were to get stuck in a room alone for longer than fifteen minutes, murder would not be out of the question.

Jared pulled the strap of his bag over his head so it’d lie across his chest and gave a final respectful salute to Jeff before turning away to get going. He had to stop thinking about Misha. It was a beautiful July evening and Jared had a date. A promising guy he’d connected with over the app MeetCute.

Well, their texts of corny jokes that led to some flirty innuendos had seemed promising to Jared at least.

—

A movie and a dinner later, Jared unlocked the door to his tiny studio apartment, pulled his shoes off, and fell into bed. He pushed his eyes against his pillow and breathed as he wished he could just erase the evening.

If he’d been in his early twenties, he would’ve gone for it. Tahmoh had an incredible body, gorgeous eyes, sculpted features. Jared was so ready for their date to go right the minute he laid eyes on the man.

Unfortunately now at twenty-nine Jared had been dating for awhile and he’d established some personal ground rules: Jared had no interest, much less patience… and no actually just flat-out resented, guys that made him put in all the work to have a decent conversation. And for some reason the man wouldn’t even give him his opinion of the movie beyond “it was cool.”

Who does that? Jared wondered. The whole point of going to see a movie first is so you at least have that to talk about over dinner when all else fails, right?

Apparently Tahmoh hadn’t gotten the memo. And the whole date had lasted without any mutual engagement - no dynamic of any kind emerged between them; no fun.

Jared shivered and stretched out, trying to loosen his muscles after they’d coiled in so much disdain.

Dwelling on these things rarely helped so he took a shower, got ready for bed, and set the alarm for six in the morning. His dance company, Wayward Bound, had him six hours a day with their next slated performance a couple weeks away. Jared was under no illusions the company was less rigorous than it could be - ballet companies anywhere other than major cities tended to be that way and Sienna, Colorado wasn’t exactly the most bustling cosmopolitan cityscape - but he actually preferred this company over any others in which he’d been. Jared drifted quickly, blanking his mind of the evening and letting the summer wind and night traffic sounds lull him under. 

—

Jared dreamed a memory that night. The day he’d met Misha Collins.

Jeff had introduced them. Jared had been in a rush. He hadn’t even changed out of his black leggings and tank - he’d just thrown on his black beanie, gray vans, and a lightweight cashmere trench he bought for comfort and style for instances exactly like these where he had to cover up in public if he didn’t want to get stares.

“Jared, this is Misha Collins, our new instructor for yoga and meditation.”

“Oh, great.” Jared had said distractedly, signing himself out on the clipboard.

“And Misha, this is Jared Padalecki. When he’s not performing ballet, he teaches ballet,” Jeff explained, offering Jared a charming wink to get away with suggesting Jared’s life was basically all ballet all the time. Jared of course let it go. Jeff wasn’t far off from the truth.

“Oh ballet,” Misha spoke with a heaviness on the word. He stopped and turned to face the man with renewed interest. Misha wore a pair of loose white pants and a soft gray cardigan straight out of Mr. Rogers’ closet. Clothing aside, Jared tensed more at the sight of the man’s expression. Clear blue eyes watching him intently. Jared was taller than him but Misha had an unmistakably equal presence.

“Yeah,” Jared coughed, “ballet. Why do you say it like that?” Jared tried to sound breezy but it probably failed.

“No, nothing. Just kind of a niche form of dance,” Misha shrugged. Like he hadn’t totally insulted one of the most historic and esteemed fields of performance fine art in the world. “And of course I know it’s really hard work.”

Jared pressed his lips together and looked to Jeff for permission. Jeff had a pinched look to his face, but scratched his chin and gave the slightest shake of his head, signaling to Jared that he had to let it go.

“Billy Elliot. Uh, Black Swan. It, yeah, looks like really hard work,” Misha threw his hand out like he was throwing Jared a bone.

Jared was rarely speechless but he had nothing to say that’d be appropriate for Jeff to hear.

“All right, Jared. Get out of here before you have a stroke,” Jeff murmured, humor lacing his tone as he ushered his professional ballet dancer towards the back door to the parking lot. Jared looked over his shoulder just once as Jeff bustled him out and saw Misha standing where they’d left him, head tilted and hand holding his chin in curious thought over what’d just transpired.

They locked eyes and Jared glared daggers. Misha grinned. Jared spotted an old plastic ballet trophy of his that he’d won in middle school, grabbed it and wound up to pitch it straight at Misha’s smug face only to twist and jolt awake in bed to the sound of his alarm.

Jared took a second to orient himself before letting out a breathy laugh over the ending of that dream. 

—

Ruthie Connell was Jared’s heaven-sent best friend and partner in ballet. If Jared had called anybody to vent over the non-event that had been Tahmoh the night prior, it would’ve been her. They’d met in New York City. Two young ballet dancers auditioning - one from San Antonio, Texas and the other Falkirk, Scotland - with dreams and ambitions and a whole hell of a lot of work ethic combined with talent. They’d hit it off immediately, became reliable partners and companions through the highs and lows of the world of New York City competitive ballet.

In hindsight, neither regretted the experiences they’d gained but both of them were happier now. Together in this city doing what they loved. They had Ruthie’s wife, Felicia, to thank for that. This was her home and she’d floated the idea they could all try moving right around the time Jared and Ruthie were starting to burn out. So they gave it a shot.

Turned out, it’d been perfect. Wayward Bound’s company director, Kim Rhodes, adored them. While she held auditions fair and square for the lead parts of every performance in the year’s line-up, there was a slightly understood truth that Ruthie and Jared had the leads if they wanted them. Another understood truth in the company was that neither Ruthie nor Jared hogged the spotlight: young, hard-working, ambitious dancers would rise every once in awhile and in due course Jared and Ruthie always stepped aside or agreed to lead with them instead of each other - anything to help these kids reach their dreams and get wherever they wanted to go.

Practice went well with Jared finally letting himself rant about his failed date last night.

“You know what you need, Jared?” she asked suddenly while she was en pointe and they were running a slower-paced version of their choreography.

“What’s that?” he asked, lifting her.

“A challenge,” she grinned after he’d set her down again. He rolled his eyes and continued their choreography. “I’m serious!”

“I don’t want a challenge, Ruth,” he breathed, in sync with her pirouettes before spinning three more. Ruthie spent the time getting to her mark for a final lift. “I don’t play games. I don’t like hard-to-get.”

“Mm, challenge might be the wrong word,” she admitted. They finished their routine in the last minutes of practice and checked in with Kim before making their way to the wall where they’d dropped their things.

“I mean… someone who talks back at you. Or what’re the kids calling it these days?” she paused, “claps back at you-?” she asked, punctuating every word with claps. Jared snorted with amusement as he pulled his rubber band out of his hair so it could fall loose.

“Maybe,” he shrugged.

“Well, we’ll see who you end up with,” she trilled. Her voice sounded like bells sometimes, melodic and clipped with a touch of sly mischief that always kept him guessing. 

—

It was half past three when Jared arrived at the Center from practice, coming in through the back after parking. Rushing through the main hallway, he passed a small physical rehabilitation room, his beloved studio with the ceiling to floor mirrors, and the staircase up on his right. To his left, the modest-sized pool and its locker room entrances, then Jeff’s office which connected through to the front lobby. Upstairs was the main floor of exercise equipment as well as Misha’s studio and a small play room for kids while their parents worked out. It wasn’t huge but it was clean, well-maintained, and well-loved by staff and Jeff along with his co-owner and wife Hilarie. Soon it’d be renovated as well. Tons of upgrades and Jared was looking forward to it but first he had to get through three harrowing months of sharing his studio with Misha in September, October, and November.

Jared’s class wasn’t set to start until four so he had enough time for visiting the lobby. It was a nice open space with plenty of bright sunlight coming in from the windows facing a busy downtown street. The circular reception desk and the area behind it doubled as the staff’s break room. At least one person running the front desk but with a larger area in the back with several wheeled chairs strewn around, a coffeemaker, microwave, and a medium-sized fridge. Jensen looked up from his phone with purple-tinted glasses.

Jensen Ackles was a personal trainer. He drank monster energy drinks, dressed like Tony Stark, and communicated in as few words as possible until he got comfortable, at which point his penchant for boisterous “friendly joshing” surfaced. Professionally, he was best known for tailoring his motivational messages to what he knew about members so it wasn’t rare to hear some absurd imagery prompting his clients to go further: out-bike that zombie, punch and kick at that giant milkshake, make it through the jungles of Africa by lifting those fallen trees.

He also had a knack for creating nicknames and unfortunately they really stuck.

“Hey Slippers,” he murmured as Jared said his hello to Katie, their receptionist, before going to join Jensen in the back. Jared grunted agreeably - the days of trying to deny that nickname long gone - reaching for the coffee. Now that he wasn’t going to be full-out dancing, he could indulge.

 “Hey so,” Jensen turned and folded his arms. Jared poured a mug and put it in the microwave. “George Michael called. He wants everything,” Jensen waved his hand up and down Jared’s body, “back.”

Jared looked down. He’d thrown on a pair of loose jeans with holes in the knees over his leggings but kept his usual white t-shirt - and maybe it was slightly deliberately tight because it made him feel good, so sue him.

“How are you gonna start with this while you’re wearing those glasses, man?” Jared shot back, smiling, but it soured at the sight of wet coffee glops inside the sugar bowl.

“You don’t like ‘em?” Jensen asked, pulling his purple shades off and looking at them. Jared was preoccupied cursing Misha for mishandling the sugar and dumping the nasty clumps into the trash.

“You should see how I replaced the toilet paper.” Misha strolled in, steaming tea in hand.

“Yeah, great,” Jared brushed his hair back with his hand and turned away from the guy to… watch his coffee heat up in the microwave. He put his hair up with a rubber band just to make it look like he was doing something. Jensen took some of Misha’s time asking him about his glasses. Misha was supportive as he always was of the most ridiculous shit and it was what made people think he was so great. It just irked Jared. Did Misha take anything seriously?

“So Jared,” Misha paused at Jared startling and turning around, coffee to his mouth. “I watched this documentary thing on ballet.”

“Okay.” Jared tried hard not to cringe.

“It was called First Position. Have you seen it?”

“No, sorry,” Jared lied.

“Hm,” Misha’s eyes squinted like he knew, “well, okay. Did you ever compete in this… I don’t remember… kid’s Grand Prix thing-”

“Youth America Grand Prix, yeah.”

“Yeah you know it or yeah you competed?” Misha asked earnestly.

“Yeah, I competed.”

“Did you win?” Jensen interjected, now interested too. Jared looked over and found Katie watching as well.

“N..no,” Jared shifted his weight, “never won.” He clutched his mug tighter.

“Aw, well it’s really hard to win,” Misha offered sympathetically, a spark of playful menace in his eyes. Jared made a face and shook his head. He didn’t get it. It wasn’t funny.

“Hey. D’you ever try out for So You Think You Can Dance, dude?” Jensen asked suddenly, excited, and Jared’s heart skipped at beat in fear. God, no…

“No!” Jared replied. “No, no-no-no. No. I didn’t.”

“He doth protest-”

“Shut up,” Jared interrupted Misha harshly and Misha - for once - actually did.

After a beat of quiet, Misha and Jensen laughed, full well knowing Jared must have auditioned at some point, reacting the way he had.

“Gotta find that at some point,” Jensen muttered to Misha as he took a sip of his Monster.

“Please don’t. I’m serious guys,” Jared bit out, his anger building. He grabbed his coffee and his messenger bag and made to leave.

“Aw Slippers c’mon,” Jensen jeered, patting Jared on the back.

“Stop. No,” Jared batted Jensen away. “My class is in five minutes and you guys have pissed me off so just leave it.”

Jared turned on his heel before he could see Jensen roll his eyes or worse, Misha’s satisfied smile he’d once again gotten a rise out of Jared.

--

The summer passed quickly. Jared was relieved nothing had come of that conversation about So You Think You Can Dance. They couldn’t know the season he’d entered to compete and he’d registered under a different name so it had to be way too much footage to sort through.

Jared had called Ruthie up afterward to talk about it. What were the odds that after two years of almost no prying questions about his time in New York, of course it was Misha that’d had one. Well, technically Jensen. But Jensen wouldn’t have thought to ask if it hadn’t been for Misha.

September began - the first month of renovations - and apparently Jared was right that Misha hadn’t had a good enough reason to start his yoga session half an hour after the end of Jared’s ballet. The class was officially switched to six in the evening and Jared wasn’t sweating any run-ins when there was an hour’s buffer in between them.

But Jared couldn’t have been more wrong.

Jared kind of wanted to cry over how wrong he’d been.

Because Misha came in early. He always had a reason. And they never stopped running into each other.

—

“Have fun with your communal stretching and sitting,” had been Jared’s first salvo.

“Yeah we’ll try not to destroy our feet. Oh wait, that’s ballet,” had been Misha’s first rejoinder.

—

“You missed a spot,” Misha actually said as he walked into the studio and found Jared mopping a juice spill of some kind.

“Can I call you Yogi Bear? You remind me of him. Like, same IQ level.”

“Aw, y’know you’re just the Black Swan to my White, Slippers.”

“Don’t call me that.”

—

“I was wondering why there were so many mirrors in here,” Misha said as he walked in on Jared looking at a pimple coming in on his chin.

—

--

Meanwhile, Danneel Harris was hired to run morning pilates and barre classes. She was lively, her banter a strange mix of coy and crass so she quickly fell into step with Jensen. Katie ran the betting pool on when they’d pull the trigger on a date.

October, the entire center was festooned with Halloween streamers and classic wall and window hangings of witches, skeletons, and pumpkins. Jared bought a Spider-man unitard on Amazon for the special day. Inspecting the weak stitching, he ruled he couldn’t wear it to his company’s practice - now gearing up for a December premier of The Nutcracker - but donned it for the kids he taught at the Center. Jensen and Danneel had been Spartan Cheerleaders from an old Saturday Night Live sketch, Jeff and Hilarie dressed as Thing One and Thing Two. Misha wore an inflatable flamingo inner-tube around his waist over light pink joggers and a darker pink t-shirt.

Misha didn’t normally wear anything so form-fitting. Jared didn’t dwell on Misha’s legs or arms or chest or neck or back or anything. He only acknowledged Misha was well-balanced because whenever the man wasn’t in motion he’d strike the classic yoga ‘tree’ pose. It made the kids giggle. Jared was reluctantly amused.

It didn’t stop either of them from exchanging insults every day though. Jared even noticed he’d wait for Misha just so he could deliver a great zinger he’d thought of that day.

—

“So Mish how many people you think are gonna fall asleep on you tonight?”

“None. But if they do at least it’s good for them. I don’t make ‘em cry.”

“What?! I don’t make my kids cry!”

Misha raised an eyebrow.

“Oh my god,” Jared’s hands fisted in frustration, “okay, that was only one time and it wasn’t just class. She was under pressure from school deadlines too - I was just the straw-”

“Uh huh, sure,” Misha teased.

Jared huffed and got his things together.

“Asshole,” Jared muttered, leaving without so much as a backwards glance. He still felt so guilty about that incident.

—

“Hey Jared, what’s the average number of eating disorders for a ballet dancer? Like, three sounds reasonable to me but my friend said four.”

“If I were you I’d be more concerned with our murder rates.”

 —

--

With the Halloween festivities over, November was upon them all and Jared rejoiced: only one more month until renovations were over and Misha could get his studio back and stop antagonizing the shit out of Jared at his. As per the beginning of every month, all staff had been called in for an administration day, meaning the Center closed for a major staff meeting - usually all of them crammed into the lobby together, some sitting on the floor - confirming everybody’s classes, schedules, major events or activities for the month as well as “advertising and marketing development.” Otherwise known as, “take turns using Jeff’s office printer for fliers.” Jared always used a standard template he’d made ages ago. Add a few secular and festive emojis here and there, print it off, then go around posting them to community boards at various local libraries and schools. Jared always took off from Wayward Bound practice for admin days because he’d come to really enjoy them. Mainly because somewhere along the way of their original purpose, admin days had turned into Staff Bonding and Member Gossip days. Mainly because they all spent time waiting for turns in Jeff’s office.

It was a chilly morning but Jared was looking forward to a full day dedicated to the Morgan Center when he nearly crashed at the sight of Jeff on the sidewalk right outside the Center’s lobby windows.

Jeffrey Dean Morgan stood proud and tall, all six foot three of him covered in a turkey outfit passing out pamphlets. He waved at Jared when he saw his car and gestured at the drive that led to the parking lot behind the building. Jared couldn’t hold back a laugh at the ridiculous fabric snood wobbling at Jeff’s every move.

Getting inside, it was clear the Center was closed to any classes or activities but what was new: the staff meeting had been rescheduled for later in the day and the lobby was open to walk-ins. And there were a lot of walk-ins. The place was buzzing with activity, interested parents with their kids and university students strolling in from the street at the promise of more information on what the Center could offer them from the “huge turkey guy outside.”

Flummoxed, Jared had just stared for a second as he pulled his jacket and scarf off and draping them over the counter. Katie’s eyes lit up when she saw him and gave him the run-down. He was supposed to just catch anybody’s eyes when they walked in and start talking about the Morgan Center.

“Ask them questions about what they’re interested in and tell them what related classes or equipment we have for that, answer any questions they have, share how happy you are working here, that kind of thing,” Katie whispered, passing over some pamphlets to hand out. Jared’s brows furrowed, looking down at the shiny new color-printed tri-fold on sturdy thick paper.

“These are really nice,” Jared murmured, examining them.

“God bless Hilarie, right?” Katie laughed. “Jeff would’ve used paper and crayon.”

Jared chuckled and looked down at his outfit. A light blue cotton button-down over a white tank, his beanie, and a pair of tight dark jeans with his Vans. He deemed it casual and suitable enough to serve as an impromptu sales representative for the Center. At least he wasn’t dressed up as a turkey.

 So he got into it quickly, snapping up the next walk-ins, explaining the Center’s services and membership benefits to them, telling them how much he loved teaching Ballet and that he was a professional with the Wayward Bound Company headquartered further downtown. It actually felt good to get such positive reactions talking about it. He lived in a world so heavily embedded in physical work and discipline, he rarely got the chance to brag.

Several hours later, Jared was reassessing the charm of bragging and the structure of this particular admin day. Everybody’s throats were sore. Jared was hunched next to Genevieve, a physical rehabilitation specialist that only worked by appointment, when Jeff came over - inadvertently hitting people with his turkey outfit and knocking everything along the side of the counter off into Katie’s desk space under it -  to join them by the coffee maker. His turkey snood wobbled as he quietly fixed himself a small mug of hot coffee, in need of soothing his vocal chords like the rest of them. Gen and Jared watched him as he checked his watch - it was nearing three in the afternoon - and assessed the interior. Katie was trying to straighten up the mess he’d made of her workspace, and Jensen and Misha were still handling potential new members.

“Okay,” he murmured. “I think it’s time to wrap it up and actually run the staff meeting,” he said. Genevieve and Jared moaned with bliss at the prospect. Misha had just finished with his potential client, waving them out the door, and noticed them. He wore a light smile as he approached but Jared noticed the guy had dark circles under his eyes.

“So Jeff, what’s the deal with this?” Misha asked lazily as he leaned against the counter.

“Lost a bet with Hilarie. I think today we set a record signing people up too so… that’s another bet lost,” he murmured to himself, causing snickers among his staff. “All right,” he announced, voice strained and crackled but still with enough boom to get everyone’s attention. “We’re closing the center in about five minutes, folks,” he directed his words to the walk-ins that remained with Jensen, “and then we’ll have our staff meeting. Just as soon as I get this thing off me,” he grumbled, causing another round of laughter at his expense as he maneuvered his way to the bathrooms.

Genevieve pointed her thumb in the direction Jeff had gone.

“Uh why does he need privacy to take that off?” she whispered. Jared shrugged, then started laughing with her when he got the joke. 

Once Jeff fielded the jokes about free-balling his turkey suit, the staff meeting began as usual. Just like October’s Halloween, November carried with it another annual highlight of the Morgan Center schedule of events: Thanksgiving Turkey Week. The event was about the Center buying a week’s worth of Thanksgiving dinners for the local soup kitchen. The Center’s staff volunteered to serve those dinners every evening to the local at-risk populations of the neighborhood. It was generally understood that unless you were flying out of town or dying, you had to volunteer. Everybody wanted to partake in it though: all volunteers ate dinner there too and going to bed every night with a full turkey dinner in them for a week was pretty damn nice.

“In conclusion, this year’s Thanksgiving Turkey Week is gonna go off without a hitch just so long as everybody is punctual, am I understood?” Jeff asked. Everybody agreed. If they lacked some enthusiasm it was only due to the amount of talking they’d already done that day. “Great! Okay. First, Hilarie and I will take the earliest serving shift starting at five-thirty. Jensen, Danneel, Katie: you guys are six-thirty. seven-thirty…”

Jared’s eyes widened. This left him and-

“Misha, Jared, and Genevieve, seven-thirty ending at eight-thirty and then it’ll be time to pack it in.”

Jared cradled his head in his hands and eventually looked up. Misha shot him a tired smirk. Jared was more struck by how much it seemed Misha needed a nap.

For all the animosity between them, Jared was baffled with these fleeting moments of sympathy he’d get for Misha.

He chose to ignore them.

The rest of the month continued as the past couple had.

—

“Have a good day giving kids body image issues?”

“You flirting with me?” Jared shot back, winning that verbal duel before it’d even begun.

Jared counted that as his favorite of the month so far. Highlight of his day was Misha’s fumbling and frustrated reaction to that one.

—

It was the Thursday before Thanksgiving Turkey Week. The skies were getting overcast and the sun was setting earlier. A couple weeks ago Jared had to start turning on the studio’s sub-par lighting for his usual four PM class. It was sub-par because while the lights were spaced out evenly along the ceiling, they were recessed. It allowed too many shadows even at their brightest setting with the dimmer, especially in the corners.

Classical music was still playing over the stereo, Jared was picking up a sweater left along the wall to throw into the Lost and Found, and Misha walked in quietly without a single opening shot at Jared.

Jared had no idea until the music stopped, at which point he turned around to see Misha’s figure hunched over the stereo.

“Not meditative enough for you,” Jared quipped, walking over. Misha didn’t say anything, just stepped back to do something else when Jared touched his shoulder. “Hey, Mish-”

“Uh!” Misha startled and turned, eyes wide.

“Holy shit!” Jared stepped back in horror. “What… what happened to you?!”

The left side of Misha’s face was ghastly, freshly scraped and bruised even back to his ear with a respectably painful-looking black eye. At Jared’s alarm, Misha nodded and inhaled through his teeth before offering an explanation, clearly by rote now.

“Fell off my bike,” Misha shrugged. Jared frowned, trying to conceal judgment because he sure as hell wasn’t going to reserve it.

“Wow, jeez. I’m… so sorry,” Jared said, feeling weird over offering kind words to Misha. “Uh,” he faltered, at a loss. “Anything I can help you with? Setting up?” He saw Misha had his stupid essential oil diffuser by the stereo so he went ahead and plugged that in for him. It always left the studio smelling amazing - like lemongrass, sandalwood and lotus flowers - instead of stale sweat, but whatever. It was stupid.

“Thanks,” Misha muttered, watching Jared guardedly.

“Of course,” Jared replied, equally uncertain. “So…” Jared started, unable to help himself, “I gotta ask. What were you even doing on your bike for that to happen?”

It was a transparent bid to learn the circumstances of his injury so he could figure Misha had brought this - his Harvey Dent face - onto himself… because if there was any chance Jared didn’t have to feel sorry for him he was going to find it.

Misha sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose and shrugged. “Car door opened into the bike lane.”

“Ouch,” Jared reacted, “shit, yeah. Okay,” he said aloud.

Guess he had to feel sorry for him.

Misha’s mouth broke into a withering smile like he knew exactly what Jared had been thinking when he’d asked his question; exactly what terms they were on despite his injury. His one good eye - the other was swollen shut -  pierced into him. The expression indicated Jared was either excused or dismissed; either way it made him feel guilty.

The following day, Jared had to touch Misha’s shoulder again to get his attention. His planned jab at meditation involving bed sores fell silent on his tongue when Misha startled just like last time too.

“Sorry. I can’t hear out of this ear right now,” Misha explained, his voice like gravel. Jared winced and nodded with new understanding. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for Misha but it was happening nonetheless. Even worse, it didn’t take much searching inside himself to realize he missed their verbal sparring.

Hopefully Misha would recover a lot more over the weekend, and they’d be back to normal for Thanksgiving Turkey Week.

—

Monday at the soup kitchen, Misha’s face had healed a lot but apparently he was still recuperating because he didn’t mess with Jared. Instead, he avoided him and spent his time smiling more than he normally did. It was new. A dimension to this man that Jared hadn’t seen coming and he was altogether too fascinated by it. He paid way too much attention to Misha’s smiles. The smooth and gentle features broadening into delight, his clear blue eyes - well, just one, Jared thought to himself caustically. He could joke now because it was looking so much better than it had last week.

At any rate, Misha’s eye was open and engaged. His gestures more animated.

This seemed to be what Misha might look like when he’s having real wholesome fun-?

Volunteer-work? At a soup kitchen?

Jared cringed inwardly as he scooped mashed potatoes for a lady smartly bundled up for the weather with a sweet smile on her face who’d handed him her plate with shaky hands. Jared worked and wondered. To what extent had he misjudged Misha if his idea of a good time was something as generous and good like this?

He shot more furtive glances at Misha throughout the night, watching him interact with the type of people who were not bringing their own yoga mats to his classes before their mimosa-drenched brunches. He listened with so much respectful focus and spoke with such relaxed clarity to everyone who approached him.

Jared felt better when he realized Genevieve was looking at Misha the same way. Who the hell was this guy and what happened to their callous, teasing asshole of a coworker?

—

Tuesday, things got a little more interesting when Jared realized Misha seemed to know some of these people. He was way more familiar with some of them than what could’ve been attributed to meeting them the day prior. They were cracking jokes, paying Misha honest compliments, and launching into substantial conversations like they were active friends. And Jared didn’t judge - God knew he had come just as close to homelessness as a lot of the people he was serving tonight himself - but he was curious.

—

On Wednesday, Jared heard whispers from a guy - black, mid-twenties, dressed in a nice winter puff coat - who stopped at the end of the serving table where Misha had stationed himself. He sidled up next to Misha to talk as he served himself and Jared strained to hear.

“Hey Mish. Look, I just want to say thank you again, man. You didn’t have to get involved. You didn’t have to go get her with me but you did and… you got,” the guy made a clucking noise and Jared looked up, eyes wide as he saw the guy pointing to the side of Misha’s face. “I should have been the one, not you, man. She’s my little sister.”

“You couldn’t have done it if you’d gone alone, Lucien,” Misha replied quietly. Lucien watched Misha in case he wanted to say anything more, then nodded and resumed serving himself. When he finished, Jared saw Misha grab the edge of Lucien’s sleeve and stop him. “Hey - call me if anything like that happens again.” Misha had ducked his head to look up at Lucien because he was a solid five inches taller than the guy.

“Won’t happen again,” Lucien replied immediately, stepping back, “Nah, it won’t, Mish. Promise. My sister’s on the straight and narrow now.”

“That’s always what I want to hear. But I’m telling you: you call me if anything ever happens again like that, all right?” This time his tone was light but with some inexplicable warning beneath.

Lucien opened his mouth to object but picked up on that warning in time to simply sigh, “Okay, man.” He carried his plate with him as he backed away from Misha. “You’re too good, you know that?”

“Uh huh,” Misha grunted sarcastically, smiling despite himself as he put together another plate to hand out.

Misha looked up then, straight at Jared, and Jared nearly spilled the whole damn vat of cranberry sauce.

—

On Thursday, Jared told Misha his face was looking better and Misha gave a reserved ‘thank you’ before setting himself up at the serving table. Jared pressed his lips together and nodded, acknowledging he’d just been awkward as hell.

—

On Friday, their last night stationed together for an hour, Jared resolved he’d just throw down. They were both relaxing in wheely chairs behind the serving table because the line for food had died down. Gen was out on the floor at a table with some other women she’d gotten along with - when they’d found out she was a physical therapist she had quickly become the most popular server and spent a lot of her time answering questions about how to alleviate various aches and pains. Jared had finished his own dinner of gravy and turkey biscuit sandwiches and was left picking at the stuffing, shooting quick glances at Misha about how to do this. Misha was oblivious to it all, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed and hands sensibly clasped together. Normally anyone would think he was asleep but Jared knew him well enough now to know he was meditating.

Jared sat up straight and wheeled his chair over towards Misha. Misha tensed, registering Jared’s presence, so Jared just went for it: didn’t let himself obsess over how to say it.

“Hey. Misha. After this, you wanna grab a beer after this?”

Misha froze.

Okay, Jared thought, maybe he shouldn’t given that pitch a little more practice.

Misha opened his eyes and slowly swiveled around to face Jared. It was difficult to describe his expression. Vexed confusion.

“What?”

Jared opened his mouth, made a weird squeaking sound, closed his mouth, then shrugged. “Yeah,” he breathed. “I mean, if you’re not busy.”

Misha squinted like he was trying to figure out Jared’s game.

“I’m… not… busy,” Jared offered lamely, looking around - looking anywhere but Misha.

“No, but you hate me.”

“No!” Jared tried, “I mean, I… we-”

“And I hate you.”

“Oh,” Jared sank down in his chair. “Got it. Okay, yeah. Then,” Jared swallowed, “nevermind. Ha.”

--

The Monday after Turkey Week and Misha’s tremendous rejection, Jared was packing up as fast as possible. Only one week left until renovations would be complete and Misha would have his own studio and they wouldn’t have to cross paths nearly as much, if ever. Jared hoped never. He still flushed red with embarrassment at just the memory of last Friday, his mind overlaying Ruthie’s merciless laughter as he’d told her what’d happened.

That’s perfect, darling. I say keep up the fights anyway. I know you say you don’t, but I know you love them. Don’t give up.

Jared did like fighting Misha. He was definitely giving up though.

The weather was in full winter swing the last week of November. Jared still wore his cashmere trench but now it was layered by a longer wool coat. He’d swapped his beanie for a heavier gray tuke and he was shameless about his Uggs. His feet were brutalized by ballet day in and day out; he didn’t give the slightest shit about anyone who’d begrudge him spending a small fortune on warm, comfortable footwear. He had just one small splash color to his outerwear ensemble, though: a festive red and white scarf that Ruthie had knitted him a year ago.

He was ready to escape his own studio like the coward he was only fifteen minutes after his class had officially ended. Ratty messenger and gym bags in hand, he turned to the doors of his studio only to find Misha waiting there watching.

Watching intently. Laser focused on Jared and looking sad. Empathetic. Jared hated it.

“Let me guess. Somebody died on your meditation retreat and nobody noticed until two days later,” Jared bit out.

Just some normalcy. He’d appreciate it. Pretend like nothing had happened last week. Pretend like he hadn’t seen a different side of the man in front of him and liked it enough to ask him out.

“There’s a Weekend at Bernie’s joke in there somewhere,” Misha replied evenly, but it wasn’t the snarky retaliation of their past.

Jared gave a tiny smile and stepped back, grasping the straps of his bags nervously. After a few beats of silence, he lost patience. “Whatever. Have a good night, man,” he murmured as he moved past Misha and opened the doors.

“I found you on that TV show.” Misha’s voice was quiet but the statement slammed into Jared. No one except Ruthie knew about that here. “So You Think You Can Dance,” Misha continued. He turned to look at Jared, eyes sincere and kind and Jared wanted to run but he remained, stuck in this whirring space of panic. “You were… amazing,” Misha breathed, clear blue eyes sparkling.

Jared frowned.

“But you saw the other stuff. The interview.”

Misha deflated and nodded.

“When?” Jared gritted out. Misha’s brows furrowed. “When did you find it?”

Misha bit his lip, guilty. “Last month.”

Jared huffed and shifted his weight, anger coming back to him. Anger was so much better than the panic.

“So what, you…you’ve just been waiting for the right time?” Jared asked, dripping disdain.

“No,” Misha toned, appalled. “No, Jared. I mean… I went into it thinking it’d be…funny…” he trailed off, looking at the polished hardwood floor. His posture was self-conscious but not altogether ashamed. “I like our banter. I thought-”

“Wait-wait-wait. I’m gonna stop you right there. Banter? Misha, we fight.”

“Eh.” Misha shrugged. Jared’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to rain hell on this asshole for suggesting their verbal attacks and insults were banter but Misha cut him off before he uttered a sound.

“I know. I know. I… Jared I thought you liked this dynamic…”

Jared raised an eyebrow and squared his stance, folding his arms. There was a reason he couldn’t outright deny him though.

“So… you decided to watch me on that stupid TV show for more ammo. Just admit it, Misha. You’re an-”

“I’m not an asshole! God, you are so-” Misha took a breath and exhaled. “I wouldn’t have used that against you. You cried -”

“The camera crew drills you until you cry, okay? That was not-”

“Jared, whatever,” Misha interrupted, sincere, then let out a small laugh. “I admire you. I think your career’s incredible. Still incredible.”

Jared had to look away, unable to handle the heartfelt compliments. That segment they’d done on him had been three minutes of stripping his entire life down from the tragedy of growing up in the foster care system to the triumphs of scholarships to New York City - narrating the trials of enduring the pressure of competitive ballet in the city until burning out and breaking down, and finally sitting across from the show’s host, cashing in on a Hail Mary ticket in the form of auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance.

He wasn’t in it for long; he’d gotten injured and pulled out, and quickly moved with Ruthie and Felicia out here where he was actually happy.

Jared still had unresolved feelings about what’d happened in New York. To hear his nemesis - the nemesis he’d asked out for a beer last week but still his nemesis, damn it - tell him in no uncertain terms that he was incredible was sending him just a little bit over the edge.

Jared wiped his eyes and glanced back at Misha, mistrustful.

“I’ve always been coming in early to see you, Jared. You’re, yeah,” Misha stopped, clearly at a loss for words, “from day one, I’ve liked you. I like teasing you. I like everything.”

Jared winced and sniffed, confused and emotional, and having a difficult time believing any of this.

“Why didn’t you say yes to me then? When I asked you out.”

Misha stilled, eyes fixed on Jared almost like he was sizing him up. Finally he took a huge breath and dug into his pocket.

“You asked to go out for drinks, right?”

Jared shrugged and shook his head. “Yeah, so?”

Misha flipped a small coin towards Jared. Jared failed to catch it.

“What the-” Jared backed away, looking for where it’d fallen on the ground. He spotted it and picked it up. “What’s this?” He asked lowly, inspecting it.

“Sobriety chip.”

Jared pressed his lips together and looked at Misha, nodding with understanding.

“Five years,” Misha added nervously.

Tense silence, Misha watching Jared, waiting.

Jared brushed the pads of his fingers over the golden coin with the number five inscription. This was deeply personal. This was maybe as deeply personal as that TV segment had been for him.

Jared swallowed and huffed, resolving not to give in just yet. He handed the chip back to Misha. “So we could’ve gone out to Jamba Juice. Why didn’t you say ‘yes’ if you felt this way?!”

“Are you serious? Nobody’s like ‘I asked him out for drinks Friday night and we went to Jamba Juice. It was completely normal’!” Misha shot back.

“Okay,” Jared laughed, “I’ll give that to you.”

“And I wasn’t ready. And I was shocked. I didn’t even know you knew I was bi!” Misha whispered.

Jared shrugged.

Jared was gay. He liked the company of men. If Misha had turned out to be straight last week he still would’ve had a good night.

“I am sorry for saying we hated each other though. I don’t hate you, Jared. Far from it.”

Jared swallowed and nodded, letting the quiet sit after that. He took a step closer to Misha and Misha matched it until their faces were close and their eyes were closed.

“You want to stay for yoga?” Misha asked hopefully. Jared grinned and shrugged.

“Why not?”

They leaned in for the kiss they’d both been waiting for - whether they knew it or not - for far too long.

Epilogue

Chapter Summary

Sexytimes shall commence!

Jared kicked the Misha’s studio door open, his hands full of winter decorations meant for the renovated second floor. Jeff had granted him and Misha one hour’s paid overtime if they agreed to stay after and put them up.

So it was eight at night. Jared was getting tired and ill-tempered but he swore that had no bearing over his completely objective assessment that Misha was being a pain in the ass.

“Is that it?” Misha asked.

“Yes, your highness.”

“Don’t act like that. You were the one that signed us up for this.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know you were gonna run like thirty extra minutes with your yoga class.”

“It’s Wednesday. My Wednesday classes always go thirty minutes longer.”

“Why? That doesn’t even make sense. Is Wednesday the ‘make things longer’ day for you?” Misha looked at Jared sharply, then raised his eyebrow. Jared didn’t notice. “Because that’s not a thing! And now we’re here-”

“Doors locked, completely alone,” Misha pointed out, stepping over to him.

“Alone and exhausted-”

“Oh I don’t know. I could still-”

“No!” Jared yelled. He blinked and realized Misha was giving him eyes.

“Keep going,” Misha purred sarcastically. Jared huffed as Misha pushed warm hands under his t-shirt, tracing along his stomach and taking his time going higher, smoothing over his ribs before coming back together and slide up along his sternum.

“You’re blushing,” Misha sing-songed as he teased his touch over and around Jared chest but kept away from his nipples. Jared’s breathing picked up, his body taking clear interest in the proceedings, and the corners of his mouth turned up. Misha tugged the side of Jared’s shirt.

“Hey-!” Jared breathed, but ceased speech altogether at the warm lips pushing against him. Misha stepped forward and Jared stepped back, smiling through their kisses until they reached the wall.

“Let’s talk some more about how Wednesdays are the ‘make things longer’ day,” Misha suggested, voice low and playful as he unbuckled Jared’s jeans. Jared laughed and bit his lip as he focused on unbuttoning Misha’s shirt. “And you’re so exhausted,” Misha mocked Jared’s voice. Jared rolled his eyes and got Misha’s shirt off more violently than usual. Misha laughed and used his foot to push Jared’s jeans all the way down. Jared’s dance belt was still there, failing rather spectacularly at hiding any ‘distracting contours.’

Jared took the initiative, leaning down with nips and kisses against Misha’s neck, working the inverse of Misha’s earlier strategy by going straight to his nipples, thumbing over them until hard, a dark plum. Misha rubbed his nose and lips against Jared’s hair. He smelled like talc powder, the Poplar wood of his studio’s bars , and the semi-sweet musk of Jared’s skin, a little salty from the day.

Misha was breathing heavy by the time Jared was done, licking and kissing up his neck again until he reached his mouth. They kissed easily, exploring with a rhythm as their bodies pressed close. Misha finally drifted his hands down Jared’s back, fingertips and nails trailing around just above Jared’s sculpted ass and thighs and making the man shiver against him. Jared gave a soft grunt of frustration and clutched Misha tighter, trying to get Misha to stop teasing.

Instead Misha dipped into the waistband of Jared’s belt and pulled.

“Wait, you serious?” Jared whispered, pushing Misha away for a second. Misha licked his lips, eyes dark and playful. He shrugged and nodded. “It’s cold,” Jared warned. Misha smiled along the side of his mouth and untied his drawstring pants. He made Jared laugh when he revealed he wasn’t wearing anything under. Jared shrugged and pulled his t-shirt off.

“Let’s try to keep warm…” Misha suggested helpfully, moving back into Jared’s space and Jared laughed again, pulling Misha close to him and stuttering his breath as Misha nudged his knee up between Jared’s thighs.

Jared spread immediately, widening his stance so he was closer to Misha’s height. “Yes, Misha, oh…” he murmured, totally enjoying the sensations but also admittedly loving the faux exhibitionism of it all. He supposed - not without a sardonic sense of humor - it’d only make sense they’d christen their studios after their apartments.

Jared kept moving against Misha’s leg losing himself with the friction as he kissed Misha’s neck and swirled delicate fingers along Misha’s abdomen and going lower until they wrapped around his shaft.

Misha moaned, Jared smiled,

“Mish,” he breathed, adding pressure to his feather-light strokes. “Misha, let’s-”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Misha replied, voice wrecked with desire as he bent down and went rummaging for the lube and condoms as Jared pulled the dance belt all the way off.

When Misha turned around with the appropriate items in hand, he blinked in surprise that Jared was still standing.

Jared tried not to smile and beckoned Misha with his finger, falling into self-conscious giggles as Misha moved like a man mesmerized.

“You are so-”

“You too,” Jared interrupted. He’d had enough compliments. Misha nodded, understanding. He held the condom up and pointed at Jared with a questioning look on his face. Jared gave a wry smile and shook his head, pointing at Misha. “You said you were gonna make this last.”

“Challenge accepted,” Misha snickered, rolling the condom on and stepping up to Jared again.

“Now, let’s try this out,” Jared said and slowly lifted his leg up with perfect control and strength, foot pointed, and angled it over Misha’s shoulder where it came to rest.

Misha nearly fainted.

“I think I’ve just died and gone to heaven,” he joked, then gasped as Jared pulled Misha in closer to him. Misha launched into kisses, feeling his way around Jared’s body all the while, getting familiar with how they fit together in this - maybe the hottest position they’ve tried so far - before doing anything further. The closeness caused Jared’s leg to angle up higher and Misha was in awe at how little resistance there was for it - Jared was basically holding his leg up by the strength of his muscles alone.

They stayed that way for awhile, passionate kisses and touches. Eventually Misha warmed the lube against his hands and moved tender fingers everywhere, eventually getting to Jared’s muscles, easing into him for however long it took. It was lovely. Making this part last between them. Misha had promised after all, so he certainly wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon unless Jared-

“Okay, c’mon,” Jared interrupted Misha’s thoughts. Misha opened his eyes to see Jared’s own, wide and half-lidded in ecstasy already; cheeks red with a slight sheen of sweat. Jared gave him a two second smile, a kiss, and then nodded, closing his eyes again and wrapping his arms around Misha’s back.

Misha licked his lips and lined up. He pushed in and after their prep there was only the slightest resistance - good - and then blissful  warmth and tightness enveloping him and Misha’s breath stuttered to a halt. They both moaned as shivers flowed through them both, rocking them minutely as they tried to keep their balance standing up. Misha stepped closer and Jared gasped, leg going higher and angling a bit to the side before Misha stepped in and braced him. Jared adjusted, angling his leg so his knee could bend and hook around the beck of Misha’s neck.

“Jared,” Misha breathed through gritted teeth, holding himself together by the barest thread.

“Go, go,” Jared started laughing, voice throaty and clearly desperate as Misha.

 Misha started moving, only three thrusts in until Jared arched against the wall shouting yes there and the two of them rocked together like waves, gaining a rhythm and building it up. Sweaty hair fell into Jared’s face and Misha pulled it back, wanting to see him. Jared’s eyes - dilated but still Misha could see the kaleidoscope of colors - beamed back at him for it. Jared returned the affection, pressing his palm against Misha’s cheek, drawing down to his neck before they resumed focus.

Misha had been bracing Jared but it wasn’t necessary - Jared was in perfect balance and control of his stance - so Misha thought maybe he’d throw that off and slide his hand up the inside of Jared’s thighs, up through thin curly hair and pressing gently on the space between.

“Ah,” Jared grunted, annoyed, “what’re you doing down there?” Jared squawked, squirming around trying to get Misha’s hand up to his cock.  Misha let out a deep laugh, getting the message and stroking up, hearing that heady sound of Jared’s pleasure returning and amping up until he was undoubtedly as hard as Misha.

They were gasping and slick with sweat, Jared’s hair a mess, his lithe, coiled body lifting and falling against the wall in tandem with Misha pushing and pressing into him with the core strength of his own athletic strengths. Misha timed things well, knowing when he was about to come and adding some light touches on Jared that’d have him matching up: a slight twist deviating from Misha’s regular rhythm on Jared had Jared in helpless flinches and twitches, a fingertip tracing around the head got Jared pleading.

“Mish, please,” he gasped, hands everywhere against him and Misha doubled his own pace, the sound of Jared’s voice so wrecked and begging. Misha’s fingertip slipped soft and across the wet slit at the tip and Jared shouted as everything hit its peak and he came apart under Misha, writhing through the overwhelming pleasure, feeling Misha following him not ten seconds later.

They slowed down but didn’t break from their positions, twitching and touching for warmth and reassurance, coming down from the adrenaline and their kisses light as their hearts mellowed out against each other.

Jared pulled his leg off Misha’s shoulder and slid down the wall, pulling Misha down with him. Misha only took a second to clean Jared’s stomach off with a spare workout cloth before lying down against him. Jared promptly wrapped his arms and legs around Misha and Misha laughed, mumbling his lover was an octopus and receiving smacking kisses against his face for it in retaliation. At least until he felt Jared’s chin rest on his shoulder, looking out at Misha’s brand new studio with all the winter decorations still dumped on the floor.

"If I paid you, would you just do the decorations?" Jared whined.

"No," Misha retorted, offended, and Jared chuckled.

“We should do this again,” Jared sighed, nuzzling his cheek against Misha’s.

“Your studio.” Misha challenged, head tilting, trying to see Jared. 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” Jared repeated. Then, “Jeff’s office,” he suggested and they both fell to exhausted laughter.

Afterword

End Notes

Thank you so much for reading!

This fic hit a lot of firsts for me: it's my first slashfic, my first rpf fic, my first Mishalecki fic, and my first romcom fic. If you enjoyed it, please drop a comment & let me know!

Also, reverse bang's not done with me yet! Around November 26th I'm scheduled to post a scifi J2 fic that'll be much more dramatic & angsty.

Thank you so much again! <3 Alex

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