Love, Apparent Chapter 2/20
TITLE: Love Apparent 2/20
AUTHOR: lifelesslyndsey
PAIRING: Jared/Misha with briefly mentioned other pairings later
RATING: NC-17 in various chapters.
BETA'D: malbryn
One day, one day he's been in college and he's already had his first gay sexual experience. Granted, it wasn't exactly his experience, but he still feels it counts for something. Seriously though, who hooks up in a bathroom? A dormitory bathroom, none the less. It makes Jared's skin crawl, just thinking about it. Just...gross. The bathroom part, not the gay part.
He stalks back to his dorm room, only to find it suddenly inhabited by a weaselly-looking blond who is currently and unabashedly rifling through Jared's things.
“Excuse me!” Jared snaps, yanking his boxer-briefs (what is it with people manhandling his shorts today!?) from the guy’s hands. “Richard, I presume?”
“Chad,” the guy says slowly, like he wasn't just digging through Jared's underwear drawer. “Chad Murray. And chill dude, I was just gonna scope out your porn, get feel for your type. It's good to know if we're gonna be competing for babes or not.”
Just looking at the guy, Jared is mostly sure that he wants nothing to do with any girl interested in Chad, ever.
“I don't have porn,” Jared blinks at him. He peers at the door and wonders if this Chad person is friends with the creepy R.A. So far, they have both successfully freaked him out upon introduction, and manhandle his undershorts. “Seriously, what are you doing in here? My roommate is supposed to be a guy named Richard Speight. See, it's on my papers.” He snatches the room-assignment papers from where he'd left them on the dresser and flourishes them in front of the weaselly-drawer-riffler.
“Wait, wait,” Chad says, clearly intent on ignoring Jared's important questions and paperwork. “What do you mean you don't have porn? Why don't you have porn?”
“I...don't need it?”
The guy Chad just squints at him, then scoffs. “Uh, yeah, you do. Seriously, everyone needs porn---”
“You know what?” Jared cuts him off right there because really, he doesn't want to get into how the objectification of women makes him really uncomfortable. “We should really go talk to the R.A.'s and get this straightened out.” He'd almost prefer that over discussing porn with this guy; he's not sure he can to look either of the R.A.'s in the face any time soon. Except, whenever he sees porn, all he can think of is how he'd feel if his little sister ended up in Penthouse, being ogled by guys across the globe. And the girls in the magazine, they have to be someone’s sister or daughter, so he starts wondering what their parents must think and yeah. It's enough to prevent a boner for at least a day.
“Oh right,” Chad agrees, following Jared out the door.
He chatters incessantly; Jared can't get a word in edge wise as they make their way to the dorm lobby where the registration table is set up. “Seriously though, porn or no porn, you have to have a type,” Chad finishes his spiel with a dramatic hand wave. “I like tall, leggy blondes, myself,” he explains without prompting. Jared can only assume he's expected to reply in kind.
Jared thinks of Alexis, his ex-girlfriend back home, and answers without any thought. “Short, blue-eyed brunettes. I guess I have a thing for baby-faces.” It's true enough - it's what made him fall for Alexis in the first place. He'd like to say it was her winning personality but...well. She was pretty, in an insipid pageant-girl type way. Not that pageant girls are insipid, but Alexis kind of was.
“You totally just mostly described my ex,” Chad says flatly. “You can have dibs on any baby-faced brunettes, 'cause after Sophia, I've had enough of 'em.”
“Aw, Misha, no love,” a familiar voice says, and Jared feels himself cringing. Yeah, he had been hoping that Mike and Misha were both...busy, or whatever. No such luck. Today is not Jared's day. “You either Tommy, you're the Baby Face in this rat pack.”
“Shut up, Powder,” Misha snaps back, but he's smiling. “At least my carpets match my drapes.”
“Thanks to you, I have neither carpets nor drapes,” Michael replies dryly. “Hardwood and open windows, my friend.”
The third guy, the one sitting between them (he's not surprised they need to be separated in public) speaks, sighing deeply. “Guys, seriously. I have no more coffee to spit and there are freshman to register. Just...shut up.”
“Jared's already registered,” Misha supplies helpfully, looking up at him brightly, like Jared hadn't just seen the man's o-face. Mike though, Mike is smirking. Jared decides to not look at either of them. He thinks as far as couples go, they're a strange mix of frightening and cute. Even if he's pretty sure talking to Alexis the way they did would get him in serious trouble. If not from her, then surely from his momma.
The third guy, whose blue name-tag helpfully reads 'Tom', clears his throat, and Jared gets with the program. “Uh, hey. I think there's been a mix up. My room assignment says my room-mate is some guy named Richard, but Chad here, his room assignment says his room-mate is me. So uh....”
Tom takes his slightly-crinkled paper, and Jared makes it a point to look at neither Mike nor Misha who he is mostly sure are looking at him. “Oh,” Tom says, nodding to himself. “Looks like Speight withdrew from college, so they reassigned your room to Chad.”
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Chad says with an alarming grin as he reaches up awkwardly to throw his arm over Jared's shoulder. Ducking out of reach, he gives Chad a nervous smile and a nod. Jared is a little bit afraid of him. Or at least, catching something from him.
“Right,” Jared says, taking his papers back and slipping of Chad's arm. “Well, thank you.”
He's only just made it to the first stairwell when he hears a voice being called out. He tells Chad to go ahead, and turns around to catch Misha skipping his way up the stairs. Actually skipping - arms swinging, the full shebang. “Hey,” he says, stopping four steps down. “I uh...you dropped your phone in the bathroom.”
Jared flushes; he can feel the heat of it on his neck. “I wasn't spying,” he says in a rush. “Er. I mean, I wasn't like...spying on you and your boyfriend.”
“Of course you weren't,” Misha replies, in brisk agreement. “We were in the bathroom, anyone could have walked in. Also, Michael is not my boyfriend,” He gets a weird little grin on his weird little face. “But I can't wait to tell him you thought so.”
Other freshman are milling past, every one as wide-eyed and weary looking as Jared feels. “Oh. Uh...but you two were...” He's not really sure what they were doing, to be honest.
“Oh, he was helping me take his cock ring off,” Misha replies and then winces. “Yeah, there's no way that doesn't sound weird. It's...have you ever heard of Gay Chicken?”
They're walking now, gently pushed along by the flowing crowed. “Uh...isn't that just kissing?” It's not a game any of his friends would have ever played, but he's heard of it. Mostly he was under the impression it was just a way that gay guys got straight guys to kiss them. He flushes and realizes how horrible that sounds.
“We play an... extreme version. It's more like... a Gay Chicken Prank War. Whoever lays down the best prank wins the round. First one to forfeit loses, but that's never happened. This game is years old,” Misha says unabashedly. “Winner carries on. This round was kind of a draw, so either of us can raise the bar. ” He gets a far-away look that Jared is pretty sure means he's plotting. It's kind of scary.
Jared wonders if he looks half as horrified as he feels. “That's... and all your friends play that?”
“No just Mike and I,” Misha replies and Jared's not sure what to make of that.
“Are you sure you're not just gay for each other?” Jared blurts out in question, and then chokes on his own audacity. “Sorry, that was---”
“Oh, good God no,” Misha startles him by laughing. “Mike and I are just friends. We probably have some serious boundary issues, but...yeah. Friends. Anyway, I just wanted to give you back your phone and uh, apologize for the thing with Mike this morning, and uh, then the thing in the---”
“Rough start?” Jared asks, feeling a little guilty for passing the guy off as a nut job so quickly. It's the guy's first day of the year too, maybe his first day as being an RA. Jared doesn't know what kind of pressure that entails, but considering he's not sure he can handle taking care of just himself, he doesn't envy the guy who has to look after a whole floor of freshman. “It happens. No harm, no foul.”
The guy melts a little, like Jared's acceptance to his apology actually mattered to him. They're in his hall now, squeezing through the milling students. “Awesome,” he breaths, and then bites his lip. “Uh Jared?'
He's already reaching out for his door when Misha calls out to him again. “Yeah?” He asks, turning a bit.
“Your watch,” Misha says, tossing it to him. “Sorry.”
It smacks against Jared's chest and he barely catches it, thick leather band soft against his fingers. “Must have dropped it. Thank you, it's...it was my Grandpa’s. It's kind of important to me.”
Misha's cheeks pink oddly, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Sure.”
It's past curfew, all of his freshy little freshman are tucked away in their beds as they should be. Misha's on call tonight; all the R.A.'s are, for any freshman suddenly struck with horrific bouts of home-sickness that require midnight pep-talks or coddling. He almost laughs at the notion as he props his door open with a potted ficus. He's fairly sure no freshman will be coming to him for any kind of help, at least not for a while.
Misha is off-putting; he knows this. He stares too long, often says the wrong thing, and steals things. These are not trust-inducing characteristics for which the youth of today come falling over themselves for his aid and wisdom. At least, not until mid-terms, when they're desperate. And that's okay, because Misha mostly has no idea what he's doing on a day-to-day basis, but he's pretty sure he could teach a slacker chem-one in a night with enough Red-Bull and jelly beans. It's all about incentive and Misha is totally an awesome jelly-bean giving teacher. But then, after mid-terms pass, word will spread that he is not a man to be wary of, but rather to be embraced. He knows this method will work because it's pretty much how he's met all his friends. Unfortunately, it's enough to meet friends but it's not enough to keep them. Misha has made many friends over the years, but only Mike, Tom and Jensen have managed to hang around.
It's not that he doesn't have people-skills. Misha has excellent people-skills when necessary. He can charm the pants off a priest (and not because of his boyish good looks). It's just that...not very many people merit that kind of effort in his opinion. But given the chance, Misha is nothing but friendly. He's a nice guy, and he likes people. He likes to watch them and talk to them and sometimes poke at them. And occasionally steal their personal belongings, but he can't help that.
People like Misha too, it just...takes time. Misha compares himself to something akin to jumping in a pool. There are two ways to do it. You can jump head first, and take all the Misha-weird at once, or you can toe the waters, ease your way with small doses of Misha. Most people just seem to prefer the latter. But Mike and Jensen once told him that when you got to know him, there was no going back; that Misha was a kind of life-changing person. He's pretty sure they meant it as a compliment, but it doesn't always feel that way. When it's dark, and he's bored, and there's nothing to distract him, he sometimes thinks that every one's life would be a lot easier if it were Mishaless.
To avoid said boredom or brooding, he flips open his laptop and pulls up his instant messanger. Jensen isn't online,and Mike is 'busy', but Tom is available so Misha clicks his name. Tom is the one he wants to talk to anyway, because Tom is something Jensen and Mike are not. Tom is sympathetic. Misha can talk to Tom about uncomfortable shit without being mocked. It's not often that he needs to; Misha is not terribly insecure about most things, but...when the insecurities come creeping, Tom has always been there.
Mishamigo: Tell me why you guys thought I should be an RA?
Tom: Your child-like mentality is easily related to? The fact that it requires no roommate or a rent check? Or the ability to remember to write a rent-check?
Mishamigo: You're not helping. I don't think this was a good idea. This was a bad idea.
Tom: Come on Mish, what's up?
Mishamigo: I've liberated a watch, a wallet, and two sets of car keys today.
Tom: Jeez Misha, day one? You should have talked to us if you were stressed.
Mishamigo: You all have your own worries. You shouldn't have to worry about me.
Tom: You're our friend. Of course we're going to worry.
Mishamigo: Maybe I don't want you to. Maybe I can handle this by myself.
Tom: You're our friend, Mish. Maybe you should talk to Mike. He's better at dealing with this.
Mishamigo: I don't want to be dealt with! It doesn't have to turn into a thing. It's not like I mean it.
Tom: I know you don't mean it Mish, but you gotta get a handle on it. The last thing you need right now is to get arrested again. But this RA thing? You don't need to worry about it. The underclassman normally love you. Give it some time. And do me a favor? Let Mike know.
Misha: He'll yell at me. And I wasn't arrested for theft.
Tom: He'll help you. He always does. And you were arrested for sticking your balls on a croissant at Arby's and then smacking it on the counter and asking for a refund. You think that's better?
Misha: Well duh.
Misha does tell Mike. As suspected, Mike is not impressed. Equally, Misha is not impressed by Mike's nightly frisk job. Mostly it yields pencils, pens, and once a stapler. Easily lost things. He knows it's not exactly 'getting a handle' on it, but he feels better stealing inconsequential things. Plus, everyone steals pens. It's nice not to be alone.
It's a solid month into term before he ever hears a knock on his door. He's trying to mod an old PlayStation into a waffle iron, pleasantly stoned and somewhat tingly. He's nearly done when a knock startles him from his tinkering. He panics a little, flailing because it's either campus authority or a freshman. Neither prospect is especially promising, to be honest. “Uh...come in.”
To his surprise, it's Jared.
He peels off his safety-goggles, rubbing at the deep red mark they leave on the bridge of his nose. “What can I do for you Jared?” He asks, a direct question straight out of the RA guidebook.
Jared flushes, much to his amusement. “Sanctuary?” He says, after a fashion, shuffling at the door. He's big and lanky, filling the whole space, even as he tries to make himself small. “I'm pretty sure my room-mate is having an orgy.” He adds tightly, mouth pulling into a frown.
God save him from prudish-freshman. “Were you not invited?” He asks, because...well, what else could be the problem?
“What? No!” Jared says, and Misha kind of flinches beneath the kid’s sheer expression of horror. “Well, yes I was. That's why I'm here.”
Misha does not understand because he's ninety-nine percent sure that orgies are always awesome, at least in his personal experience. In fact, he's a little impressed a freshman is pulling one off within the first month. He's seen Chad; he suspects money or blackmail was involved. Chad is kind of a creeper. This is coming from Misha, so....
Jared though? Jared has a very wonder-bread feel about him, all tanned and twangy with his half-hidden Texas drawl. He's a good boy, Misha can see it in the blush on his cheeks and the way he hides behind his ridiculous hair.
He blinks at Jared, stares for a little too long, till Jared squirms and continues. “I don't want to sleep with Chad, or anyone who would sleep with Chad.”
Misha decides that's probably not a bad rule to live by. “Understandable,” he replies, setting down his soldering gun. He kicks the pile of clothes he was using as a pillow off the bed, and points. “Have a seat, mi cama es tu cama.”
Jared flushes an even deeper shade of red, and Misha thinks about what he just said. “You speak Spanish, don't you?” he asks the giant freshman. He can feel the faint tingling niggle of embarrassment rush across his skin like heat, beneath his high. He squashes it brutally; he's just not the type of man to get embarrassed. Embarrassment is a distant cousin to regret. It's a waste of time.
“I'm from Texas, so...a little.” Jared nods, perching himself on Misha's bed, legs outstretched, bumping into the desk. “Enough to know that your bed is not in fact my bed.”
So far, Misha has busted into the kid’s room, stolen his underwear, gotten caught coming on a friend in a public bathroom, and has now made an accidental but still inappropriate pass at him in Spanish. “Were all the other R.A.'s busy?” He asks, almost randomly, because there is just no logical reason for Jared to be here, with him.
Jared's eyes go wide, startled. “What? Uh. I don't know. Aren't you my R.A.?”
“Yeah, but you don't necessarily have to come to me,” Misha explains. “You can go to whoever you're comfortable with.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Jared asks, confused and tense. “I..um. I can go...somewhere else, I mean, I didn't mean to bother you.”
“You're not bothering me,” Misha replies, blankly. “I just...cannot imagine you're comfortable with me, all things considered.”
Jared gives him a blinding smile. “I think we just got off on a....a couple of bad starts. Plus, it's Friday, and you're the only R.A. who never looks busy on Friday.”
“That's not true,” Misha denies. “I live a very active and exciting social life.” He does, but he also has an extremely selective Social Theory field research class on Saturday mornings that he has never missed. Given his record, it wasn't easy for him to get into and the professor isn't exactly fond of him. For some reason though, his friends are under the impression he spends his morning doing court-ordered community service. He's never corrected them. “Just not on Friday.”
“So I can stay?”
“Of course,” Misha replies, sliding his safety goggles on while Jared digs through his bag for a book. “Hey, do you like waffles?”
As it turns out, Jared does.
CHAPTER THREE....
AUTHOR: lifelesslyndsey
PAIRING: Jared/Misha with briefly mentioned other pairings later
RATING: NC-17 in various chapters.
BETA'D: malbryn
One day, one day he's been in college and he's already had his first gay sexual experience. Granted, it wasn't exactly his experience, but he still feels it counts for something. Seriously though, who hooks up in a bathroom? A dormitory bathroom, none the less. It makes Jared's skin crawl, just thinking about it. Just...gross. The bathroom part, not the gay part.
He stalks back to his dorm room, only to find it suddenly inhabited by a weaselly-looking blond who is currently and unabashedly rifling through Jared's things.
“Excuse me!” Jared snaps, yanking his boxer-briefs (what is it with people manhandling his shorts today!?) from the guy’s hands. “Richard, I presume?”
“Chad,” the guy says slowly, like he wasn't just digging through Jared's underwear drawer. “Chad Murray. And chill dude, I was just gonna scope out your porn, get feel for your type. It's good to know if we're gonna be competing for babes or not.”
Just looking at the guy, Jared is mostly sure that he wants nothing to do with any girl interested in Chad, ever.
“I don't have porn,” Jared blinks at him. He peers at the door and wonders if this Chad person is friends with the creepy R.A. So far, they have both successfully freaked him out upon introduction, and manhandle his undershorts. “Seriously, what are you doing in here? My roommate is supposed to be a guy named Richard Speight. See, it's on my papers.” He snatches the room-assignment papers from where he'd left them on the dresser and flourishes them in front of the weaselly-drawer-riffler.
“Wait, wait,” Chad says, clearly intent on ignoring Jared's important questions and paperwork. “What do you mean you don't have porn? Why don't you have porn?”
“I...don't need it?”
The guy Chad just squints at him, then scoffs. “Uh, yeah, you do. Seriously, everyone needs porn---”
“You know what?” Jared cuts him off right there because really, he doesn't want to get into how the objectification of women makes him really uncomfortable. “We should really go talk to the R.A.'s and get this straightened out.” He'd almost prefer that over discussing porn with this guy; he's not sure he can to look either of the R.A.'s in the face any time soon. Except, whenever he sees porn, all he can think of is how he'd feel if his little sister ended up in Penthouse, being ogled by guys across the globe. And the girls in the magazine, they have to be someone’s sister or daughter, so he starts wondering what their parents must think and yeah. It's enough to prevent a boner for at least a day.
“Oh right,” Chad agrees, following Jared out the door.
He chatters incessantly; Jared can't get a word in edge wise as they make their way to the dorm lobby where the registration table is set up. “Seriously though, porn or no porn, you have to have a type,” Chad finishes his spiel with a dramatic hand wave. “I like tall, leggy blondes, myself,” he explains without prompting. Jared can only assume he's expected to reply in kind.
Jared thinks of Alexis, his ex-girlfriend back home, and answers without any thought. “Short, blue-eyed brunettes. I guess I have a thing for baby-faces.” It's true enough - it's what made him fall for Alexis in the first place. He'd like to say it was her winning personality but...well. She was pretty, in an insipid pageant-girl type way. Not that pageant girls are insipid, but Alexis kind of was.
“You totally just mostly described my ex,” Chad says flatly. “You can have dibs on any baby-faced brunettes, 'cause after Sophia, I've had enough of 'em.”
“Aw, Misha, no love,” a familiar voice says, and Jared feels himself cringing. Yeah, he had been hoping that Mike and Misha were both...busy, or whatever. No such luck. Today is not Jared's day. “You either Tommy, you're the Baby Face in this rat pack.”
“Shut up, Powder,” Misha snaps back, but he's smiling. “At least my carpets match my drapes.”
“Thanks to you, I have neither carpets nor drapes,” Michael replies dryly. “Hardwood and open windows, my friend.”
The third guy, the one sitting between them (he's not surprised they need to be separated in public) speaks, sighing deeply. “Guys, seriously. I have no more coffee to spit and there are freshman to register. Just...shut up.”
“Jared's already registered,” Misha supplies helpfully, looking up at him brightly, like Jared hadn't just seen the man's o-face. Mike though, Mike is smirking. Jared decides to not look at either of them. He thinks as far as couples go, they're a strange mix of frightening and cute. Even if he's pretty sure talking to Alexis the way they did would get him in serious trouble. If not from her, then surely from his momma.
The third guy, whose blue name-tag helpfully reads 'Tom', clears his throat, and Jared gets with the program. “Uh, hey. I think there's been a mix up. My room assignment says my room-mate is some guy named Richard, but Chad here, his room assignment says his room-mate is me. So uh....”
Tom takes his slightly-crinkled paper, and Jared makes it a point to look at neither Mike nor Misha who he is mostly sure are looking at him. “Oh,” Tom says, nodding to himself. “Looks like Speight withdrew from college, so they reassigned your room to Chad.”
“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” Chad says with an alarming grin as he reaches up awkwardly to throw his arm over Jared's shoulder. Ducking out of reach, he gives Chad a nervous smile and a nod. Jared is a little bit afraid of him. Or at least, catching something from him.
“Right,” Jared says, taking his papers back and slipping of Chad's arm. “Well, thank you.”
He's only just made it to the first stairwell when he hears a voice being called out. He tells Chad to go ahead, and turns around to catch Misha skipping his way up the stairs. Actually skipping - arms swinging, the full shebang. “Hey,” he says, stopping four steps down. “I uh...you dropped your phone in the bathroom.”
Jared flushes; he can feel the heat of it on his neck. “I wasn't spying,” he says in a rush. “Er. I mean, I wasn't like...spying on you and your boyfriend.”
“Of course you weren't,” Misha replies, in brisk agreement. “We were in the bathroom, anyone could have walked in. Also, Michael is not my boyfriend,” He gets a weird little grin on his weird little face. “But I can't wait to tell him you thought so.”
Other freshman are milling past, every one as wide-eyed and weary looking as Jared feels. “Oh. Uh...but you two were...” He's not really sure what they were doing, to be honest.
“Oh, he was helping me take his cock ring off,” Misha replies and then winces. “Yeah, there's no way that doesn't sound weird. It's...have you ever heard of Gay Chicken?”
They're walking now, gently pushed along by the flowing crowed. “Uh...isn't that just kissing?” It's not a game any of his friends would have ever played, but he's heard of it. Mostly he was under the impression it was just a way that gay guys got straight guys to kiss them. He flushes and realizes how horrible that sounds.
“We play an... extreme version. It's more like... a Gay Chicken Prank War. Whoever lays down the best prank wins the round. First one to forfeit loses, but that's never happened. This game is years old,” Misha says unabashedly. “Winner carries on. This round was kind of a draw, so either of us can raise the bar. ” He gets a far-away look that Jared is pretty sure means he's plotting. It's kind of scary.
Jared wonders if he looks half as horrified as he feels. “That's... and all your friends play that?”
“No just Mike and I,” Misha replies and Jared's not sure what to make of that.
“Are you sure you're not just gay for each other?” Jared blurts out in question, and then chokes on his own audacity. “Sorry, that was---”
“Oh, good God no,” Misha startles him by laughing. “Mike and I are just friends. We probably have some serious boundary issues, but...yeah. Friends. Anyway, I just wanted to give you back your phone and uh, apologize for the thing with Mike this morning, and uh, then the thing in the---”
“Rough start?” Jared asks, feeling a little guilty for passing the guy off as a nut job so quickly. It's the guy's first day of the year too, maybe his first day as being an RA. Jared doesn't know what kind of pressure that entails, but considering he's not sure he can handle taking care of just himself, he doesn't envy the guy who has to look after a whole floor of freshman. “It happens. No harm, no foul.”
The guy melts a little, like Jared's acceptance to his apology actually mattered to him. They're in his hall now, squeezing through the milling students. “Awesome,” he breaths, and then bites his lip. “Uh Jared?'
He's already reaching out for his door when Misha calls out to him again. “Yeah?” He asks, turning a bit.
“Your watch,” Misha says, tossing it to him. “Sorry.”
It smacks against Jared's chest and he barely catches it, thick leather band soft against his fingers. “Must have dropped it. Thank you, it's...it was my Grandpa’s. It's kind of important to me.”
Misha's cheeks pink oddly, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Sure.”
It's past curfew, all of his freshy little freshman are tucked away in their beds as they should be. Misha's on call tonight; all the R.A.'s are, for any freshman suddenly struck with horrific bouts of home-sickness that require midnight pep-talks or coddling. He almost laughs at the notion as he props his door open with a potted ficus. He's fairly sure no freshman will be coming to him for any kind of help, at least not for a while.
Misha is off-putting; he knows this. He stares too long, often says the wrong thing, and steals things. These are not trust-inducing characteristics for which the youth of today come falling over themselves for his aid and wisdom. At least, not until mid-terms, when they're desperate. And that's okay, because Misha mostly has no idea what he's doing on a day-to-day basis, but he's pretty sure he could teach a slacker chem-one in a night with enough Red-Bull and jelly beans. It's all about incentive and Misha is totally an awesome jelly-bean giving teacher. But then, after mid-terms pass, word will spread that he is not a man to be wary of, but rather to be embraced. He knows this method will work because it's pretty much how he's met all his friends. Unfortunately, it's enough to meet friends but it's not enough to keep them. Misha has made many friends over the years, but only Mike, Tom and Jensen have managed to hang around.
It's not that he doesn't have people-skills. Misha has excellent people-skills when necessary. He can charm the pants off a priest (and not because of his boyish good looks). It's just that...not very many people merit that kind of effort in his opinion. But given the chance, Misha is nothing but friendly. He's a nice guy, and he likes people. He likes to watch them and talk to them and sometimes poke at them. And occasionally steal their personal belongings, but he can't help that.
People like Misha too, it just...takes time. Misha compares himself to something akin to jumping in a pool. There are two ways to do it. You can jump head first, and take all the Misha-weird at once, or you can toe the waters, ease your way with small doses of Misha. Most people just seem to prefer the latter. But Mike and Jensen once told him that when you got to know him, there was no going back; that Misha was a kind of life-changing person. He's pretty sure they meant it as a compliment, but it doesn't always feel that way. When it's dark, and he's bored, and there's nothing to distract him, he sometimes thinks that every one's life would be a lot easier if it were Mishaless.
To avoid said boredom or brooding, he flips open his laptop and pulls up his instant messanger. Jensen isn't online,and Mike is 'busy', but Tom is available so Misha clicks his name. Tom is the one he wants to talk to anyway, because Tom is something Jensen and Mike are not. Tom is sympathetic. Misha can talk to Tom about uncomfortable shit without being mocked. It's not often that he needs to; Misha is not terribly insecure about most things, but...when the insecurities come creeping, Tom has always been there.
Mishamigo: Tell me why you guys thought I should be an RA?
Tom: Your child-like mentality is easily related to? The fact that it requires no roommate or a rent check? Or the ability to remember to write a rent-check?
Mishamigo: You're not helping. I don't think this was a good idea. This was a bad idea.
Tom: Come on Mish, what's up?
Mishamigo: I've liberated a watch, a wallet, and two sets of car keys today.
Tom: Jeez Misha, day one? You should have talked to us if you were stressed.
Mishamigo: You all have your own worries. You shouldn't have to worry about me.
Tom: You're our friend. Of course we're going to worry.
Mishamigo: Maybe I don't want you to. Maybe I can handle this by myself.
Tom: You're our friend, Mish. Maybe you should talk to Mike. He's better at dealing with this.
Mishamigo: I don't want to be dealt with! It doesn't have to turn into a thing. It's not like I mean it.
Tom: I know you don't mean it Mish, but you gotta get a handle on it. The last thing you need right now is to get arrested again. But this RA thing? You don't need to worry about it. The underclassman normally love you. Give it some time. And do me a favor? Let Mike know.
Misha: He'll yell at me. And I wasn't arrested for theft.
Tom: He'll help you. He always does. And you were arrested for sticking your balls on a croissant at Arby's and then smacking it on the counter and asking for a refund. You think that's better?
Misha: Well duh.
Misha does tell Mike. As suspected, Mike is not impressed. Equally, Misha is not impressed by Mike's nightly frisk job. Mostly it yields pencils, pens, and once a stapler. Easily lost things. He knows it's not exactly 'getting a handle' on it, but he feels better stealing inconsequential things. Plus, everyone steals pens. It's nice not to be alone.
It's a solid month into term before he ever hears a knock on his door. He's trying to mod an old PlayStation into a waffle iron, pleasantly stoned and somewhat tingly. He's nearly done when a knock startles him from his tinkering. He panics a little, flailing because it's either campus authority or a freshman. Neither prospect is especially promising, to be honest. “Uh...come in.”
To his surprise, it's Jared.
He peels off his safety-goggles, rubbing at the deep red mark they leave on the bridge of his nose. “What can I do for you Jared?” He asks, a direct question straight out of the RA guidebook.
Jared flushes, much to his amusement. “Sanctuary?” He says, after a fashion, shuffling at the door. He's big and lanky, filling the whole space, even as he tries to make himself small. “I'm pretty sure my room-mate is having an orgy.” He adds tightly, mouth pulling into a frown.
God save him from prudish-freshman. “Were you not invited?” He asks, because...well, what else could be the problem?
“What? No!” Jared says, and Misha kind of flinches beneath the kid’s sheer expression of horror. “Well, yes I was. That's why I'm here.”
Misha does not understand because he's ninety-nine percent sure that orgies are always awesome, at least in his personal experience. In fact, he's a little impressed a freshman is pulling one off within the first month. He's seen Chad; he suspects money or blackmail was involved. Chad is kind of a creeper. This is coming from Misha, so....
Jared though? Jared has a very wonder-bread feel about him, all tanned and twangy with his half-hidden Texas drawl. He's a good boy, Misha can see it in the blush on his cheeks and the way he hides behind his ridiculous hair.
He blinks at Jared, stares for a little too long, till Jared squirms and continues. “I don't want to sleep with Chad, or anyone who would sleep with Chad.”
Misha decides that's probably not a bad rule to live by. “Understandable,” he replies, setting down his soldering gun. He kicks the pile of clothes he was using as a pillow off the bed, and points. “Have a seat, mi cama es tu cama.”
Jared flushes an even deeper shade of red, and Misha thinks about what he just said. “You speak Spanish, don't you?” he asks the giant freshman. He can feel the faint tingling niggle of embarrassment rush across his skin like heat, beneath his high. He squashes it brutally; he's just not the type of man to get embarrassed. Embarrassment is a distant cousin to regret. It's a waste of time.
“I'm from Texas, so...a little.” Jared nods, perching himself on Misha's bed, legs outstretched, bumping into the desk. “Enough to know that your bed is not in fact my bed.”
So far, Misha has busted into the kid’s room, stolen his underwear, gotten caught coming on a friend in a public bathroom, and has now made an accidental but still inappropriate pass at him in Spanish. “Were all the other R.A.'s busy?” He asks, almost randomly, because there is just no logical reason for Jared to be here, with him.
Jared's eyes go wide, startled. “What? Uh. I don't know. Aren't you my R.A.?”
“Yeah, but you don't necessarily have to come to me,” Misha explains. “You can go to whoever you're comfortable with.”
“Do you want me to leave?” Jared asks, confused and tense. “I..um. I can go...somewhere else, I mean, I didn't mean to bother you.”
“You're not bothering me,” Misha replies, blankly. “I just...cannot imagine you're comfortable with me, all things considered.”
Jared gives him a blinding smile. “I think we just got off on a....a couple of bad starts. Plus, it's Friday, and you're the only R.A. who never looks busy on Friday.”
“That's not true,” Misha denies. “I live a very active and exciting social life.” He does, but he also has an extremely selective Social Theory field research class on Saturday mornings that he has never missed. Given his record, it wasn't easy for him to get into and the professor isn't exactly fond of him. For some reason though, his friends are under the impression he spends his morning doing court-ordered community service. He's never corrected them. “Just not on Friday.”
“So I can stay?”
“Of course,” Misha replies, sliding his safety goggles on while Jared digs through his bag for a book. “Hey, do you like waffles?”
As it turns out, Jared does.
CHAPTER THREE....