Chapter Text
“You haven’t told him!?”
Misha winced at Felicia’s not unreasonable shriek. He’d been staring at the letter on and off for days now wondering what to do, hindered by how he’d had no idea how to feel about it. It wasn’t until half an hour previous, after he’d come home to find the apartment deserted and had lain on his bed, randomly listening with eyes closed to the entirety of Rachmaninov’s piano concerto no.2 which had seemed to uncannily mirror every emotion plaguing him, that he’d managed to find peace with what he dared to decide about his immediate future. Which is precisely when his best friend had decided to call.
“I haven’t told him, because I didn’t know for sure what I was going to do,” he argued.
“You don’t think he should be involved in the decision? He’s staying at school now, right?”
“Leesh, it’s only been a couple of months,” he said, brow furrowing. “Yes he’s resigned himself to enrolling for post-grad but this is my life, and I don’t want to assume he wants to have a say in it. We entered into this knowing it was likely a finite thing.”
Felicia’s forbearing sigh blew down the line. “Meesh, you’ve been together three months, and you love him.”
Misha made a slightly hysterical noise. “I haven’t told him that either,” he confessed.
“Well this is probably a good way of doing that,” she said with her perpetually uncanny ability to point out the timely truth.
Or at least half the truth. Sure this new, surprising, metamorphic thing they’d entered into had been a factor in reaching the conclusion he had, but he had tried to subtract it from the equation as much as was practically possible, not the least of reasons being was that they both seemed to know they were holding something back. Whether that was motivated by self-preservation, or because there wasn’t a way of knowing how much more—if anything—was possible, Misha guessed they’d soon find out. His contingency was if they proved to be purely a speculative exercise with a limited hypothesis, then at least he was still advancing his future in a way his doting grandmother would be proud, and he could reassess in another year with his resume looking healthier.
“Let’s hope he sees it that way,” Misha timidly noted.
“He might surprise you.”
“His entire existence surprises me.”
Felicia groaned, then laughed, and Misha opened the book in his lap again intending to say his goodbyes. Just as he’d opened his mouth, he heard the front door slam shut and immediately held his breath.
“Misha?” asked his friend’s confused voice loudly in his ear.
“Shh! I think he’s home.”
“So tell him!” she whispered tersely while he strained to hear familiar footsteps.
Jensen demonstrated his feline ability to appear without further warning in the doorway, though he didn’t so much as pause, stalking right in and across the floor where he mounted the bed, straddled Misha’s hips and removed the book from his suddenly nervous hands.
“Hi honey, I’m home,” Jensen said with a dimpled grin, dumping the text next to the where the phone lay beside Misha’s shoulder, asserting “nerd time is over,” before planting an uncompromising kiss on his mouth.
“Eeuch,” said Felicia cheerfully, still on the line.
Jensen froze, then looked sideways.
“I was just talking to Felicia but since you neglected to even knock, I didn’t have a chance to get rid of her,” Misha explained, unable to hide a smile under the onslaught of six formidable feet of sunshine and sex on long bowed legs landing on his lap and offering undivided attention.
“Hey!” Felicia protested, interrupting Misha’s brief reminiscence into the previous night’s activities when he and Jensen’s positions were identical but there had been a lot fewer clothes more viscous fluids. He made a note to make sure they slept in Jensen’s room tonight - assuming this conversation went well, of course.
Jensen’s buttery smirk returned. “Well if you weren’t so fucking kissable maybe I’d remember my manners,” he said, pretending to sulk as if Misha had waltzed into his life and turned it upside down, and not the other way around.
“Ugh! Okay! I can’t compete with the level of gross you two are. I’m going!"
“Bye Felicia,” Misha said magnanimously.
“Bye-ee. And tell your boyfriend!” she added, throwing a departing bomb before she ended the call.
“Sometimes I dislike her,” Misha intoned, feeling his throat constrict. He ran his hands up Jensen’s thighs to ground himself, avoiding the puzzled look on his face.
“Tell me what?” Jensen murmured playfully, threaded with apprehension. He made no move to remove himself from where he sat, so Misha felt he had no choice but to make it now or never. Which was probably a good thing; procrastination was a flaw he'd often indulge if given half a chance.
“Um, so—”
“You have a permanent job offer,” Jensen interrupted, slumping back with a resigned look settling on his face.
“I do,” Misha confirmed, hating the sharp fissure that cleaved Jensen’s expression for a moment. “I haven’t accepted it yet,” he continued hurriedly.
“Okay,” Jensen replied, expression wary.
Misha wound his fingers in the hem of Jensen’s t-shirt, wanting to sneak them underneath and make contact but feeling like he wasn’t yet allowed. “After I handed in my thesis, my Professor called me,” he began. "He said that he was going advise the department to invite me to enroll as a Ph.D. candidate.”
Jensen’s frown grew thoughtful. “Um, okay.”
“He also said that there was a teaching position opening up—just a part-time instructor, but it's real faculty with autonomous teaching time. He said if I applied, there was a good chance I’d be offered it.”
This time Jensen’s brow lost its wrinkle as it shot skyward. “And?”
“And, they sent me a formal offer,” he replied, still somewhat incredulous. “I haven’t even had my thesis graded—” He was interrupted by Jensen pushing him back into the pillow with a desperate, small moan behind the press of his mouth.
Then just as abruptly the kiss withdrew. “Wait, you haven’t accepted it yet?” he asked.
Misha blinked. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I...I guess I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Talk to me?” The furrows were back.
“Yes, You. Make sure you—uh—were okay with me staying,” he finished sheepishly.
Jensen sat back again and looked at the ceiling. “Oh my God,” he exclaimed, blowing out a long, loud breath.
It was Misha’s turn to frown. “What?”
“Am I okay with you staying ?” he repeated, looking at Misha like he was the dumbest person alive.
“Um—” He’d never grow tired of Jensen’s weight on top of him but the repeated rotation of his occupier’s pelvis against his own was beginning to wear.
Jensen cast his eyes down, a strange faraway look in them but no less bright than when they’d first walked in the room, full of mischief. “I’m kind of in love with you, genius,” he said matter-of-factly, “so I’m very okay with you sticking around.”
Misha felt like he might fly apart then and there, his ribcage not big enough to hold the sudden expanse untwisting within. His tongue didn’t seem to want to work either.
“Sorry,” Jensen said, mouth pursing hesitantly, “should’a probably picked a better time to throw that out there.”
Rearing up, Misha caught Jensen at the small of his back and flipped him off and over so that he crouched on all fours above Jensen’s startled form. “Christ, I also fucking love when you do that,” Jensen added, not telling Misha anything he hadn’t worked out for himself, to his ongoing astonished delight.
Hungrily surveying Jensen’s face, Misha noticed where freckles were beginning to join in places, even though the summer sun was still new. Though the blush smearing his cheeks could partially be to blame.
“What?” Jensen enquired.
“I love you,” Misha replied, the words carbonated and impulsive.
“Yeah?”
Misha’s smile couldn’t stretch any further. “I’ve known for a while,” he confirmed.
“Huh.” Jensen’s gaze took a Sunday drive around Misha’s face. “You must be sure, then.”
As preposterous as it seemed, he was. “Not even finding out you like to listen to country changed my mind,” Misha qualified.
Jensen huffed a laugh, then spider-monkeyed all his limbs around Misha to haul him down so they pressed together chest to toe, followed by mouths.
“You gave me a fright, you shit,” Jensen eventually said, hands still kneading Misha’s hair into a disaster.
“Sorry.”
“I thought everyone was leaving.”
“Leaving?” Misha slid his weight back to the bed and molded himself to Jensen’s side, using his bicep as a pillow.
“Yeah, Robbie just told me last night he was moving in with Mel. Thought for a second there I was gonna have to place a double ad.”
“So you mostly want me for my rent check and willingness to scrub the bath?”
Jensen didn’t bother answering other than by curling over and attempting to stick his tongue down Misha’s throat, which he supposed was both an argument and an effective silencing technique.
“Speaking of—” Misha began when he was allowed some air, “Felicia was talking about moving somewhere cheaper and off campus.” He wormed his way onto his back and waited for Jensen’s reaction.
“Hmm, I like her,” Jensen said, nuzzling into his favorite spot in Misha’s neck. “She called me your boyfriend.” Then he drew back as Misha turned to present a quizzical eyebrow. “Ya know, you can call yourself that too,” he challenged.
“I think we need to be technically dating for that to be accurate,” Misha joked.
“Only because to be dating we need to actually leave the goddamn house together.”
“Ehh.” Misha gave a shrug of ambivalence and kissed him his content with their cocoon, though he supposed going out without their friends would be a welcome change.
Jensen’s free hand molded behind Misha’s ear but he pulled his mouth away. “You’re definitely staying?” he asked, eyes tight.
“Yes. I’m staying.”
Jensen exhaled a warm breeze across his face. “It can take a long time to do a Ph.D,” he observed shyly.
Humming agreement, Misha felt the blank slate of his life stretch across his mind, paused with possibilities rather than questions.
“I hear it’s not uncommon to never finish them,” he suggested.