I stop breathing.

I lose the ability to inhale oxygen, because the most beautiful man I've ever seen has just materialized in the doorway, grabbing my heart in a chokehold. I try to suck air into my lungs but it feels too thick, too heated, and I can't seem to catch my breath. Suddenly my lips feel dry, brittle, and I lick them slowly as Jared stands up to give Misha a hug.

I try to stand up as well, but a crippling rush of longing sweeps over me, gripping my insides and twisting, and my legs feel uselessly weak like melted rubber. And I try to say something, anything, but my brain is short-circuiting, synapses fried. The words die on my lips.

My eyes travel slowly from his tousled, dark hair, to the alluring stubble framing his taut lips, to the delicious glimpse of skin bared by the open collar of his black shirt. It presses snugly against the mouthwatering planes of his chest and abdomen, curving around the swells of his biceps, the hem skirting around a delicious hipline. My eyes follow a searing path from those slim hips to firmly toned thighs, thighs that would grip my sides just so in the throes of passion, letting me know when I was doing a good job.

Their conversation is a mere buzzing in my ears, nothing registering except the gravelly timbre of Misha's voice, and what little room was left in my jeans vanishes with a pulse and a throb. Fuck, he's got me falling right back.

And suddenly it vanishes: all of the anguish that ripped at my soul, leaving it tattered and torn; the pain that wound around my gut like barbed wire, cutting, ripping; that sense of teetering on the bare edge of sanity, about to plummet into the dark depths of despair...none of it matters anymore. Misha may have ripped and slashed through my heart, leaving it in bloody shreds, but he's still the love of my life, the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. He's here, and that's all that matters.

A shudder rolls through my body, heart trembling against my ribs as I ogle him. He's chatting with Jared now, relaxed, oblivious to my desire to fuck him until he dies. And that cologne. That achingly familiar scent I've been inhaling from his clothing, now fills my lungs, and I inhale it like a man dying for his next fix.

Vaguely, I register Jared asking me if I'm okay. I try to reassure him, but the knot in my throat swells, thick and tight, squeezing off my words.

Then Misha's turning back towards the door, the new angle awarding me a delicious glimpse of his backside, and suddenly Jen and Sen are shimmering, my eyes blurring. Emotion grips me, tightness squeezing my throat.

They're so beautiful. And somehow, impossibly, tighter than when I last saw them. That is one fucking sweet ass you have, Misha, I think fondly. I will not be getting over it.

It dawns on me as Misha hovers in the doorway that he's leaving, probably heading back to his trailer after popping in to say hello. I shoot upwards out of my chair, my knees jerking, unstable, threatening to give out at any moment.

"I'll walk you," I offer breathlessly.

Jared's head whips around to face me and I see Misha's jaw tense almost imperceptibly, the guard lowering on his face. He's clearly trying to avoid being alone with me, probably afraid of the conversation entering heavier territory. Misha chuckles short.

"You don't have to do that; it's just right around the-"

"I want to," I smile rather breathily. "I'll just, uh-" I pitch forward, slamming my hip against the edge of the table as I attempt to skirt around it, "-fuck." I rush clumsily over to the entrance, bending down to put on my shoes.

Seeing that Misha hasn't moved, I laugh nervously. "Come on, I have to head out anyway. We can...catch up on the way."

Misha studies me warily for a beat, before nodding once. Jared stands up to see us out the door.

"Night, guys. See you tomorrow." He gives me a pointed look that my deceased neurons have no hope of deciphering right now, and waves goodbye as we set off.

The night is crisp and chill, a sweep of ebony pierced here and there by golden pinpricks of artificial light. I try my damnedest to relax as we walk, but my breath is lodged somewhere in my throat, sticking stubbornly, threatening to kill me.

Misha's here. He's here and he's so close I can feel the warmth radiating off of him and he's freaking beautiful. Even more breathtaking than I remember. It hasn't been that long since I last saw him in person, no more than a few weeks. But it feels like a small eternity. Every muscle in my body is screaming for him, acutely aware of his proximity. He never stopped being my lifeline, the battery that charges my soul and invigorates me.

But Misha's stride is brisk, quickening. I can tell from the tension along his jawline, the way his shoulders hunch forward slightly as his gait lengthens, that he's trying to get to his trailer as quickly as possible. I rub a hand over my mouth and pray for the strength to keep my hands off of him. I'm surprised I haven't passed out already, because I simply can't breathe. I try but I can find no air.

"Goodnight, Jensen." Misha's clipped farewell alerts me to the fact that we've reached his trailer. The walk was short and uneventful, much to his visible relief. He almost drops his key with the effort of jamming it hastily into the lock. My stomach twists, pinching and lurching with sudden urgency.

"Wait," I call out, anxiously wringing my hands. "Um..." I reach back, rubbing the nape of my neck self-consciously. "Uh...can we...do dinner sometime? Or something? If you-"

"Jensen," Misha sighs, eyes falling shut. He breathes out through his nose, clearly struggling to maintain his cool. "Please don't tell me you're proposing a date. Of all things. Now of all times."

My eyebrows jump towards my hairline as I backpedal desperately.

"N-no," I stammer in a rush, "I mean - whatever you want. Whatever you want it to be - not a date, no, because you're married, and I get that, t-totally. I totally respect that..." I grapple uselessly for words, but they fail me as I'm struck once more by Misha's overwhelming beauty. His eyes are electrifying in the dark, shimmering sapphire with spokes of deep cobalt.

I shake my head in an effort collect my thoughts. "I just...I just think we should spend some time together...as friends."

"Okay," Misha replies slowly, deliberately. He sighs. "We can talk about it later. I'm tired, Jensen."

"Oh - right," I jump, forcing a smile as I rub my hands awkwardly together. "Right, of course. Me too. So, um...some other time then."

"Sure..." Misha tilts his head, giving me an odd look. "See you tomorrow, Jensen."

"Right," I reply breathily, backing slowly away from the trailer, feeling like I'm somehow walking on air. "Tomorrow." I raise my hand in a short wave, almost tripping on scattered stones and belying my nonchalant air. I curse under my breath, sneakered foot throbbing from the impact.

"Are...you okay?"

"Hmm? Me? Oh yeah. Yeah, sure." Jensen, pull it together. For fuck's sake, don't you dare say- "you're so cute I could eat you out," I blurt breathlessly.

Silence.

My heart throbs in the empty void that ensues, filled only my chirping crickets.

"Up," I amend hastily, a good five seconds too late. "Damnit - I could eat you up." I chuckle nervously. Fuuuuuuck. "Obviously I meant up -" my head hangs dejectedly. "No I didn't."

I could swear the slightest sliver of a smile flickers on Misha's face just before he shuts the door. I'm left standing there, gaping in the darkness.

Imbecile. I kick the earth in frustration. Nonchalant my ass, I was fucking drooling all over myself and oh, shit... I draw a hand slowly down my face.

Dinner? Dinner? At what point in my diffuse, erratic rambling did I even come even remotely close to uttering a logically-sound sentence? And when did my sense of balance and coordination abandon me entirely? Thank fuck I didn't open my yap trap back at Jared's; I would've only embarrassed myself in front of him, too.

***

I stand in the kitchenette of my trailer, spatula in hand and apron hanging lopsidedly from my hips, surveying the lumps of shit I've managed to whip up for breakfast.

I figured when I woke up this morning, alone for the first time in months, that I might as well prepare for life as a bachelor. Starting with cooking for myself. And so far, it's been fine. If I squint and tilt my head just so, they do look like pancakes...sort of. And if I turn completely away and close my eyes...

A sudden knocking on the door accompanied by hushed murmurs, alerting me to the presence of the cast members. I set the spatula down and open the door, letting Mark, Jared, Misha and Samantha pile in.

"We had to check if you were alive," Mark chuckles. "It smells like a rotting corpse in here."

Jared scrunches up his nose in distaste when he spots the lumpy, brown masses on the kitchen island.

"Are those...burnt enchiladas," Mark squints disbelievingly. Sam jabs an elbow in his ribs, silencing him with a pointed look.

"Um," Jared clears his throat, "we just wanted to remind you that you were due on set in fifteen." He rubs a hand over his mouth and regards me pityingly. "Didn't you get my text? Misha made us all French toast back at my place. There're still a few slices left, if you're looking to score something edible for breakfast..."

I scowl as I untie the apron from my waist.

"I just wanted to...never mind." I drape it over the counter and draw both hands slowly through my hair. "I'll be down in a few. See you guys later."

Sam gives me one last sympathetic smile before herding the men back outside. Only Misha lingers in the doorway, awkwardly shuffling his feet after the trailer door closes, and looking way too hot to exist with his bedhead and the first few buttons of his white shirt undone.

My pulse accelerates as I watch him hesitate, until my heart is beating like a hammer against my ribs. He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth and I groan inwardly. Go now, I will him desperately, before I jump you...

Apparently taking pity on me, Misha takes my spot in the kitchen and upends my breakfast into the trash can. Then, wordlessly, he starts rummaging through the cupboards and producing ingredients with grim, methodical purpose.

"I knew you wouldn't let me starve," I chuckle low, my stomach knotting and fluttering with tendrils of renewed affection for the man now working away in my kitchen. The flutter of longing swells to a frenzied flurry when Misha's lips curl in a subdued smile. Still he says nothing as he cracks some eggs into a pan.

I fidget awkwardly, leaning back against the counter to give him his space. "Now you have to let me take you out for dinner," I grin. "I don't like being in anyone's debt."

Misha doesn't turn around, focused intently on the task at hand.

"That won't be necessary."

Unable to stop myself, I inch closer, watching his back stiffen. I reach my fingers out, lightly trailing the pads on his waist, wishing like hell that I still had a right to slip my hands under that crisp shirt and feel the heat of his smooth skin underneath my hands.

"Jensen," Misha warns, grip on the spatula tightening. "Stop."

"Mish, come on-"

"I said stop." Misha wheels around, eyes flashing, and it feels like he's delivered a fist to my gut. A shaky breath escapes me and I swallow rather unsteadily. Damnit, Jensen, I berate myself, do you ever shift out of fuck mode?

"Okay," I whisper tightly. Clearly, Misha's done fucking around with me. I raise my hands slowly, waving my proverbial white flag. "Okay... It's okay."

I swallow back the sob threatening to rip from my throat. I want to hold him like I'm holding onto life itself, want to feel him warm and real in my arms again, and it kills me inside that he's pushing me away after everything.

I clench my hands into fists and flash him a carefully composed half-smile. "Look, it's cool," I assure him cautiously. "I just wanna be friends again. That's all. No funny business."

Misha regards me like a caged animal, and it's like a knife right through my heart. "I promise," I choke out. "Just wanna be friends, man. Whatever you want."

I'll wait for you, hangs unspoken in the air. I hope he hears that promise, too. I'll go as slow as I need to. Just take your time; we can start over from the beginning if that's what you need. I'll never stop waiting for you. I purse my lips to hide the quivering, thrusting my hands into my pockets.

Misha's expression promises that if I'm trying to feed him a load of shit, it'll be knocked back down my throat with a few of my teeth.

I try not to smile like a fool because smiling like that would require an explanation, and then I'd have to tell him that I'm smiling because I still love him.

And Misha isn't ready to hear that yet.

***

Cocooned tightly in my warm sheets, I lie unmoving in bed after rehearsal. My new motto is: can't reach it, don't need it. Feeling too tired to get up, I make Jared fetch me water and a granola bar from the kitchen.

He sits on my couch with his laptop, poring over an article by Misha that he's recently unearthed: I Was a White House Intern. He finds it highly amusing, unable to take such a solemn piece seriously given how well he knows its author.

"I can't get over this: by Dmitri Tippens Krushnic. Seriously, who the fuck is named that?" Jared turns his lecherous grin on me. "Did you call him Dmitri when he was bad?"

"Shut up," I hum reflexively, barely cognizant of what he's said because I'm too busy emailing my agent about the upcoming open house. I have to sign a shitload of forms and make a downpayment on the penthouse, not to mention arrange for an inspector and make sure everything's ready by the closing date...

"I mean, come on," Jared carries on obnoxiously, "I'm not sure if it sounds more like a decrepit communist dictator or a kingpin in the fucking Russian mafia. But it definitely doesn't sound like the Misha I know. And speaking of sex on legs," he smirks coyly, "how'd it go with Misha yesterday?"

"What do you mean," I frown warily, still too captivated by my phone screen to look up. "Nothing happened..."

"Nothing?" Jared snatches my phone out of my hands and sets it on the nightstand. Out of my reach. "You followed him out of my trailer last night with this excuse me, I have a guy to fuck look on your face. And now you're telling me the two of you didn't..."

"No."

"Well, damn. The whole encounter looked like the first five minutes of every porno I've ever seen."

I roll my eyes, reaching for the TV remote placed conveniently by my head.

"Seriously," Jared continues earnestly. "You should've seen your face when he walked in. You looked like you were dead-set on finding a way to have his babies..."

Turning on the TV, I give him a sweet smile that promises the murder of everything he loves.

"What," Jared snorts, hands raised defensively, "I never meant to ship the two of you...but then you kept looking at Misha like he was the sun and I just kinda went well, shit."

Ignoring him, I flick through a few channels but there's nothing remotely close to good on. Seriously, TV these days is going to shit. Except for that one random show with the underwear model brothers who fight demons and crap...

"So then...what did happen," Jared prods gently. "How's it going with the two of you?"

"It isn't going with the two of us," I grind out tightly. I don't have the heart to tell him that being around Misha again feels like walking on eggshells, like I'm afraid I'll scare him away if I try and get too close. "He said we were through and he meant it. He's got his defences up and everything."

"Bullshit."

"How do you know," I sigh dully.

"Because I know you. You're practically Jensen Hackles; you've always got 'em raised, and it's just an indication of fear."

"He's not scared," I scowl, giving up on the TV and collapsing on the sofa instead.

"He's probably afraid to let you back in, because you might disturb the neat little order in his-"

"Yeah, maybe, or maybe he isn't and he just doesn't give a crap." I shut my eyes and drag both hands down my face, a sudden exhaustion pulling at my limbs.

"Oh, quit moping around like a damn princess," Jared snaps. "I thought you were going to finally grow a pair and win him back, and now-"

"But he's completely brainwashed," I explode, panic adding a raw edge to my voice. "He's like...a convert fresh outta gay-curing camp! It's like he doesn't even remember all the times he begged for my dick up his ass! I mean - how does someone just manage to forget so much!" I lace both hands behind my head and curl over slightly, fingertips gouging into my scalp.

"Hey, calm down." Jared rushes over, instantly remorseful. "He hasn't forgotten anything. I'm sure he just doesn't want to think about-"

"Well, fuck that," I rage, standing up and hurling my fist into the Tera wood of the wall, oblivious to the searing ache crawling upwards from my knuckles. "Just...fuck him. Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

I slide slowly down the wall until I'm on the ground, liquid pain burning behind my eyes. But I know there won't be any tears. I've long since cried myself out. "He can't do that," I breathe dazedly. "He doesn't get to do that." Not while I remember everything.

I rake a shaky hand through my hair, down the back of my head, then grip the nape of my neck, squeezing hard. "It isn't fair." Damn him, he's so fucking blind. I can love him better than Vicki can - better than anyone else can.

Jared reaches over to haul me onto my feet. I sway on the spot for a moment before his arms are wrapping around me, trying to pull me into a hug or some shit.

"Don't touch me," I bristle, wondering just what about my gruff, standoffish demeanour led him to believe that I enjoy chick flick moments in the slightest.

"Dude, where the fuck is your chill at," Jared sighs when I stiffen and send him staggering back from me. "You let Mi-"

"You're not Misha."

I wrap my arms around myself, feeling more like the prickly, antisocial cactus everyone knows me to be than ever.

Jared is unfazed, folding me stubbornly against his gargantuan frame anyway.

"We had something so good," I choke out, shutting my eyes and giving in to the reprieve of his reassuring gesture. "And now he wants to go and shit on everything we-"

"Jensen, look. I'm sure he understands what you're-"

"I don't need his fucking understanding." I draw in a shaky breath that hitches through my chest, then exhale it with a shudder. "He thinks he can just...turn it off, but he can't. I know 'cause I tried, Jared. It ain't gonna work."