Actions

Work Header

Playlist of Love

Chapter Text

Some say there are two types of people in the world. Sweeney Todd says there’s the one being put in his proper place and the one with his foot in the other one’s face. Others say there are the winners and the losers. Others who aren’t those others say similar stuff. To me? There are thousands of different kinds of people in the world. Why try to categorize them all under just two titles?

There is one thing we can all relate to though, and that’s music. Even the most hateful of people listen to some type of beat or tune. I bet God has his own radio up in Heaven. The angels sing all the time. People have songs in their heads. Those who can actually carry them usually do, even if it’s just humming or tapping their fingers or feet.

Sometimes, I think that it would be great if life was a song. If everyone just sang what they were really feeling, or played it out on an instrument. Then there would be no lies, and this crazy world wouldn’t be so crazy.

If love was like that too, there wouldn’t be any fights. Special people can feel and hear melodies of others and those people can find their ‘one’ through the notes they sense. But other people who only just wish of doing that, they fight and cheat and lie all the time. Their melodies don’t mix, because they’re not in the same key or time signature.

But of course, no one sings what they wanna say. That’s reserved for onstage and TV. This world is still crazy. And everyone categorizes everyone into two types. Those that can tune it out, do. Those that can’t are lost in the chaos and never resurface.

Me? I’m one of the former. All I need to do to accomplish it? Well, there are many options, really. Open my mouth and belt (when I’m not feeling shy as heck), place my fingers on the piano keys, or place my headphones into my ears and turn my iPod up loud. In music, there’s a world waiting for me. It’s a beautiful, wonderful, perfect place. A little piece of my own Heaven. Everyone has it, they just have to know it’s there and look for it. It’s built just for them. The staff is the never-ending meadow, the notes are the steps, the instruments the wide open sky. It’s so beautiful, it almost makes me wanna cry.

If only I could escape into that world all the time, and not feel trapped as I’m forced to wander the waking nightmare we call reality, waiting on the world to change. But it never does. Love songs begin and end, people die and just start to breathe, politicians lie, artists paint, poets dream. The list goes on and on, just as life does. All we can do is grin and bear it. Take it one step at a time.

It’s just how it’s gotta be. So let it be.

Chapter Text

Everyone has a certain point of view. Two people can look at the same piece of art and view it in completely different ways. For example, an immature high school student could look at the Mona Lisa and call her a fugly bitch, while a mature person experienced in the arts could call it a masterpiece. These views don't HAVE to agree with each other. But the way the world goes, it's either they DO, or they're at each other's throats. That is how wars start.

Honestly, I don't know why people just can't accept the fact that they don't agree and move on. I really just don't know.

Another shining example of this would be my parents. They wanted me to be a Nice Boy who married a Nice Girl and had Nice Kids with a degree in medicine or something. My views were different. Instead, I'm a boy who likes other boys and is working on polishing his artistic talent, rather than cutting people open. Because really, that's just unpleasant. So instead of just accepting me and my point of view, they cut me off and I gotta work harder to get a scholarship for art in NYU. I haven't heard from them since I came out to them in my freshman year of high school, after three years of being so far in the closet I couldn't see the light.

I did love them, and I still do, even if they don't love me anymore. I accepted their point of view in a way they hadn't accepted mine, and forgave and forget. I got my scholarship, and still try to call them every Sunday. I leave them messages I know they'll delete, but I don't care. I'll keep talking until the tone beeps, until they pick up.

I had seriously considered changing myself so they would allow me back into their family, but then I stopped myself, because changing yourself for someone else, even if it's for people you love? That's bullshit. 'Cause if they really loved you, they would have liked you just the way you are.

Still can't bring myself to hate my parents, though.

Art is a way I can show people that having a different point of view is not a bad thing. If you want to show your true colors, then go for it, for fuck's sake! Stop trying to blend into the background of the shit we call society! It always ends up with broken hearts and what ifs. Sometimes you just gotta close your eyes and jump.

My only friend, Genevieve Cortese, understands this. And my lover, who has yet to acknowledge our special, special bond Jensen, does to I think. We've never actually talked, you see. But that's beside the point, because when you know, you KNOW, you know?

Genevieve's view of the world is similar to mine, though it has a lot more music involved. Which is perfectly fine, because music is just another way she likes to express herself. She's a bit shy, but everyone is in their own way. She always wishes the world was a song. Then there would be no lies, and everything would be beautiful, elegant yet simple. I think that a lot of people wish for the same thing.

The whole point of my little rant is that being who you are, painting the image that's completely natural for you and not covered in someone else's colors and designs, is in my opinion the only way to live. So if I'm gay, I'll go to every single gay pride parade I can find to fit in my schedule. I won't let other people's judgements and point of views stop me. Because I'm comfortable in my own skin, unlike most people who roam God's green Earth.

As my best friend Genevieve would say, just let it be. And I agree with her. Because every piece of art has its own unique style and meaning to it. People can say what they want about it, but it will remain the same, changing only when the paint fades and changes colors naturally. 'Cause war really isn't good for anything or anyone.

Chapter Text

I like to be the Nice Boy. The boy who likes to make friends, loves his mama, and laughs long and loud. Being the Nice Boy isn't a bad thing. At least I don't think so. The world's rules are there for a reason, anyway. And though I do like to stand out---even though 'cause I'm so tall I sometimes don't have a choice in that in the first place---I know that some rules are definitely meant to be followed, when others are merely guidelines.

Being the Nice Boy, I wanna find a Nice Girl so I can have my dogs Sadie and Harley with Nice Kids. Despite the fact that I'm usually just a big ball of restless energy, I do want to settle down someday. Maybe move back to Texas and away from New York's bustling streets with my Nice Family. I think I found the Nice Girl, but she doesn't really fit the profile of Nice Girl.

Her name's Genevieve Cortese. Her head's always in the clouds, while mine's constantly on Earth, only zoning when its half-asleep from no coffee. We're really different, but that doesn't change the fact that she's witty and funny and really, really beautiful. The problem is, Nice Boy that I am, I'm prone to the cliche tongue-tiedness whenever I try and get up the courage to say more than "hi" to her. I'm not that way with anyone else, so it's really strange and kinda scary. Which is why I usually just try and steer clear of her instead of the dreadful stuttering mess I become.

So yeah, sometimes being the Nice Boy has its downfalls. But I like it. It's a simple life style that doesn't require any elaborate planning. It's not complicated whatsoever, despite the fact that the Nice Girl you like makes you a nervous wreck. I don't like to draw things out either, but get to the point, and that's what being the Nice Boy implies. It's a story that's been long told: Boy meets Girl, Girl meets Boy. They fall in love, marry, have kids. It sounds great to me, and I got a lot of friends because of it too. I can be myself with it. And at the end of the day, isn't that all that matters?

Chapter Text

Even when I have Jared Padalecki as a best friend, his self-confidence fails to reach me. I love being his friend, but when he actually takes me outside and among other people, I tense up and immediately want to be back in my sanctuary. That being the library at NYU, the school I go to.

Hardly anyone knows my name or face, and I wanna keep it that way. I've never been good with socializing, so Lord only knows how Jared became my friend in the first place. I think it was all his idea, and I just melted into it like I always do in the background. I don't know why, but I just feel so much better when I'm hiding among all the books, arranging them as Mrs. Burns our librarian likes them. By now, in my senior year, I know pretty much every single title and their location.

My parents, sister, and brother all want me to try and make other friends just like Jared does. But I can't even get a greeting out before I'm rushing back to my books. What makes it worse is that Misha Collins guy keeps finding me and STARING at me before drawing something in his sketchbook. That just makes me uncomfortable, no matter how gentle his eyes are on me. Sometimes I wish I wasn't such a shy baby, but I can't help it. His blue gaze gives me strange feelings that I don't want to even think about thinking about exploring. I'm a twitchy, frightened virgin who just wants to focus on his education as an English major whose hobbies consist of playing the guitar (only when I'm alone), singing (ESPECIALLY when I'm alone!), and reading.

I would like to keep my unspoken agreement with the rest of the student body that if I don't bother them, they don't bother me. Of course, Misha isn't just anybody. Not to sound like a stalker, but I kinda....follow him sometimes, when the shadows are thick on the walls. Just to observe and see why he keeps staring at me, I swear!

I'm dreading the moment I have to walk up on the stage and accept my diploma. For one, NYU won't be my school anymore, and I can't exactly almost live in its library after I graduate. Second, while most of the students can't wait to go out in the real world, I'm not too keen on it. It's full of lies and dark webs of pain and heartbreak. I'm thinking that when I do go out into it, I'll get an apartment, and become an author. That way, the only public stuff I have to do is book signings and getting things necessary for surviving. Jared will probably force me into meeting new people, but I don't see how that could work out.

Yes, I am that socially awkward. But hey, that's just how I am. Jared doesn't seem to have any problem with it. And by the way he looks at me---which still makes me extremely uncomfortable---I can tell that Misha Collins doesn't have a problem with it either. I'm perfectly content with living my life in the back drop. That's just how it goes.

Chapter Text

There's a reason people hate Mondays. It's the day that reminds you, "Hey! 5 days of work comin' up!" It's also the day that stops the weekend you were just starting to relax into.

But most importantly? It's the first of the 5 days when your best friend barges into your off-campus apartment to officially announce that it's time to wake up or he's leaving without you.

Genevieve knew it was an empty threat; Misha would never just leave her to go to his class by himself. But he could talk up a good game though. So, very soon, she's up (though not necessarily at 'em) and clambering into her bathroom to shower and---as Misha puts it---"do whatever girls do in the morning".

She isn't phased when she comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and Misha is staring at her in wait as she dresses in front of him, chugging his coffee like a crack addict on his stash. Because if there's one thing that a person should know when being the best friend of Misha Collins? He has never heard the words "privacy" or "personal space" except for when he's violating them. It's best to just let him be, because there's the other thing about Misha, and it's that he never judges on anyone's looks. As an artist, he knows that it's not just the colors of the painting, or the shape of the clay; it's the meaning behind it all that really counts.

Today, Genevieve sees that Misha has chosen to wear a blue long-sleeved button up shirt with old jeans, white socks, and sneakers. So, naturally, Genevieve has on a blue long-sleeved button up shirt with old jeans, white socks, and sneakers. Since she's so tiny and hard to spot in crowds, the dressing alike thing gives Misha the opportunity to ask people if they've seen his friend by saying: "she's dressed just like me!"

Hey, it worked more than a couple times.

"Ready?" Misha asked, handing Genevieve her XXXL coffee.

Genevieve grabbed her bag and plugs her headphones in. She picks an upbeat techno Toybox song to help wake her up. "Lead the way, Mish."

The pair walked out of the apartment---Genevieve locking the door behind her---said good morning to the security guard Clif, and strode through the crowded streets of good ol' New York City, heading towards Washington Square in Greenwich Village. The morning bustle was loud, but Genevieve's headphones were louder. Thankfully, Misha knew that in the morning, headphones in the ear meant quiet time (or as quiet as it could get) so he kept his mouth shut and just zoned out until they reached NYU, then the cafeteria.

Unfortunately they had to say goodbye to one another after breakfast, because they had separate classes except for a few academics and lunch break. Genevieve went into her first class, World History, and took her seat.

Mr. Perkins, the teacher, wasn't there yet. So Genevieve delighted in a few more minutes of listening to her music---which had changed to some classic AC/DC---and reading her book, which was the last one on her shelf that was unread. Misha had told her a couple months ago when the new year had started that she ought to read all of the books on her shelf so they wouldn't be left out. 'Paradise Lost' by John Milton was the last one.

She happily tuned the world out once again, not noticing the other students taking their seats around her, giving her strange glances. No one tried to talk to the person they referred to as "the creepy girl who's always reading". Because apparently, always reading and being the only friend of a very open gay artist made you a creepy weird person.

Well, it was a life style choice.

The bell rung, and Mr. Perkins strode in. He was a tall man, with balding grey-brown hair and round glasses high on his hawk nose. He always wore tweet jackets, bow ties, and khakis. His skinny frame reminded Genevieve of a stick. He was about 42 years old, with a pretty wife and a couple kids. Their picture was on his desk, right next to his dogs Marcus and Maggie. He always walked with a quick and sure step, eyes always ahead of him. A good way to live.

His arrival meant Genevieve closing her book and her iPod turning off before he scolded her about it again. Once the items were away, everyone took out their textbooks and notebooks, as well as a pen or pencil.

Mr. Perkins put his binders and books down onto his desk, and picked up his Teacher's Edition of the students' books. "Turn to page 394," he announced in his serious-nasal voice. Genevieve almost laughed out loud at the words, doing as he said.(1)

The morning passed by like Misha on a coffee rush, and in no time at all, Genevieve was going outside to sit in front of some of the plants in the quad. Misha spotted her and perched next to her.

"How was your Monday morning?" he asked, digging into the food he had placed onto his tray.

"Fast and relatively painless," Genevieve replied, offering her friend a blue headphone, which she reserved for Misha's use only. Her other pair, the white ones, were for just her. "What about yours?"

Misha took it as always. "My lover still won't acknowledge the special bond we share."

Genevieve snorted. Misha's 'lover', who didn't even KNOW about this so called 'special bond', was Jensen Ackles. He was actually pretty good looking, but he was so shy barely anyone got to see that, yet alone notice it. The only time he came out of the librarian's bookshelves was for classes, going to and from school, and on the rare time Jared Padalecki, his best friend, dragged him out into that little thing called sunlight. The poor boy was now her own best friend's muse, and therefore special lover, although Genevieve was pretty sure Jensen would faint from fright from the very IDEA of even thinking about that kind of stuff.

Her musings were interrupted by her cell phone vibrating in her bag. She flipped it open, seeing that she had a new text message.

"From: Ryan Sypek

Hey baby, how's your day?"

Genevieve gave a small smile. Misha read over her shoulder. "You and Ryan are still dating?"

"Yep." Ryan Sypek was a Good Boy, totally Mother-Approved. He was sweet, funny, and charming, and he liked to stand out just a little from the crowd. He was going to school all the way in Los Angeles. So for a couple years now he and Genevieve had been exchanging text messages, phone sex, video chats, and everything else the internet would allow. He told her that he loved her over and over, and she always responded with the same sentiments.

But the problem was, she didn't feel that way anymore. Don't get her wrong, she had felt the love, once upon a time. It was just that things change and people change. Genevieve was no longer the popular, no book policy, horseback riding high school girl from Sun Valley, Idaho, even though she still rode in Central Park on Saturdays. And she was almost certain that Ryan wasn't that pretty boy high school quarter back she remembered.

And yet, Ryan was still a sweet guy, and Genevieve didn't want to be the one to break his heart, especially since "I don't love you anymore" isn't a good enough reason these days for a break up. Until he admitted to cheating on her or something else break up worthy, then the relationship would go on. Who knows? Maybe she'll fall back in love someday.

But for now, she simply texted: "Hey babe! It's goin alright, how's yours?" and put her phone within reach before changing the song to Good Charlotte's 'I Don't Wanna Be In Love' while turning back to Misha, going to the subject they were starting before the text.

"Have you even talked to your" insert appropriate air quotes, "'lover', by any chance?"

Misha looked at her as if that was the most insane and stupid idea he'd ever heard of. "What are you suggesting? That we engage in conversation?"

"Yes, Misha. Yes I am."

"But why on Earth would we do that when there are no words needed?! THINK woman, THINK!"

His mini outburst got stares, but it wasn't like they were caring.

"I know you don't exactly follow the laws of society," Genevieve shrugged, biting into her sandwich, "But Jensen does. And wouldn't you like to know more about him so you can paint, draw, photo, and sculpt him better?"

The insanity of her idea suddenly vanished, and Misha's blue eyes lit up. "You know what...I think you may have something here!"

Genevieve smiled triumphantly. "You know me. Bright ideas just pop into me head."

So, Misha made a plan. After school, Genevieve would wait for him at one of the tables in the library while he and his lover exchanged words and perhaps had a kiss or two. He'd have thousands of pictures in his head to last him the week without worry of artist block! (because artist block? It's just as irritating and tormenting as writer's block, and Misha didn't want it any more than he wanted to shit himself)

Genevieve's smile widened. "Itt's settled, then. Today, Jensen will acknowlede your 'special bond'."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The proposition made Misha's mood soar throughout the rest of lunch and the afternoon. Genevieve was happy he was happy, so her mood was up too.

As planned, they made their way to the library after school, where Misha would finally talk to his special lover instead of just staring at him and drawing him.

Halfway there though, an almost cliche happened. A huge bulk crashed into Genevieve, both of them going down with surprised yelps.

"Holy crap, I'm so sorry!" a male voice apologized over and over. Genevieve blinked slowly, her vision clearing. She wondered why her head didn't hurt nearly as bad, when she realized that two large hands held the back of her head, cushioning the fall. She looked up at the face of her crash course partner, to find that it was none other than Jared Padalecki, the tall guy who seemed to hate her the most. He avoided her every single time he saw her, keeping his head down and acting like he didn't know her, even though they'd been in the same classes for a while now.

Jared's eyes widened. "Oh, uh, h-hah, ah...h-hi."

Genevieve lightly pushed at his chest. "Um, hello. Could you get off of me? I don't want the teachers to think we're committing unwanted PDA."

Jared's face turned bright red. "R-r-right, yeah, 'course," he stammered, clambering off of her and helping her up with very sweaty palms. He helped her with her books before stuttering a goodbye and running off.

"Ok, random," Misha tilted his head. "He reminds me of a giant dog."

Genevieve's eyebrows furrowed as she gave her friend a strange look. "Speaking of random, where did that comment come from?"

"Simply observing, Gen. Now let us be on our way so that my special lover and I can make out."

Genevieve giggled. "Alright, alright."

They arrived at the library and went into its heavily air-conditioned space, the smell of old book pages hitting them like a punch in the face. Not that they minded, even though Misha wasn't an avid reader.

Genevieve settled down at one of the tables, putting some We the Kings into her ears and taking out her book. Misha went looking for Jensen.

Because Misha was a stalker, he knew exactly where his lover would be after school. And there he was, looking so freakin pretty and drawable, arranging the books as Mrs. Burns the librarian liked them. His glasses failed to mask the masculine beauty of his eyelashes as they fluttered over his green eyes. He wore a simple worn t-shirt and jeans with sneakers. Adjusting his glasses---such an adorable action---Jensen finally turned around and noticed Misha leaning against one of the shelves, flirtatious smile on his face.

"Hey, Jensen."

Jensen's face alternated between going liquid paper white and scarlet red, eyes wider than saucers. He looked around frantically, as if searching for a place to hide.

"I thought you might want to talk instead of me just drawing you," Misha approached him, blocking all possible exits. "So, let me start with proper introductions. My name is Misha Collins." he held out his hand.

Jensen swallowed nervously, the laws of society forcing him to shake the offered hand. "H-h-hi," he mumbled, eyes down.

Misha smiled. His muse was already supplying him with plenty of possible artwork. "Hello."

It was silent for a few moments before Jensen, still staring at his feet, mumbled something other than 'hi', which was a first for him and relatively new people. "W-why're y-y-you d-drawing me?"

So adorable shy! "You're a beautiful subject," Misha answered honestly, "I love to draw you doing most anything."

Jensen blushed deeply. "O-oh. Um. T-thanks, I-I think." he raised his eyes just enough to see their hands were still clasped. "Y-y-you're s-s-still uh...s-s-still h-holding m-my h-h-hand."

"Well I enjoy holding your hand. Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"U-um, y-y-yes."

Misha let go after a final squeeze. He moved onto a subject his lover might feel more comfortable with. "So, Jensen, why are you always in the library?"

"W-work here."

"Yes, I know that, but you always hang out here after work too."

Jensen shuffled his feet, stuffing his clammy hands into his pockets. "...l-like it here."

Misha reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, noticing how tense he was. "Jensen, it's ok. I'm not going to eat you."

Jensen blushed harder. "I-I k-know that."

"Then relax. It's just me."

Jensen couldn't help but look him in the eye, an expression on his face conveying how he thought Misha was a bit wrong in the head; a fact that has been said and perhaps might be true. But then again, whoever said that was a bad thing? "You've been stalking me," he blurted in the most steady voice Misha had ever heard him speak in.

"Stalking is a harsh word for it," Misha smiled, keeping those green eyes locked with his blue ones. "I prefer it as just finding my muse and drawing him."

Jensen was visibly shaking now. He really didn't like people, did he? "U-uh, y-y-y-your w-w-what?"

"I told you I enjoy drawing you. You're my main subject, the person I draw inspiration for my artwork from. My muse."

Jensen backed up a little bit, out of Misha's reach. "Y-y-y-you're v-v-very h-honest, a-a-aren't y-y-you?"

"Lies are what fuck relationships up Jensen," Misha shrugged, "They're what fuck the world up. I see no reason why I should fuck anything up between. Well...." he tilted his head on an after thought, "Besides of course---"

"I-I n-n-need t-t-to g-go!" Jensen shook his head, adjusted his glasses with shaky fingers, and escaped through the small opening Misha gave him.

Misha smiled again. "See yah later!"

He went back to Genevieve. "Yah know what, I think it went well! He said more than a couple words and didn't run off until I mentioned fucking!"

Mrs. Burns's eyebrows raised, and Genevieve face-palmed. "Alright Romeo, we can talk about this later. C'mon."

Chapter Text

Jensen finally came out of the Sci-Fi section with a cautious step. He looked around for his stalker---uh, for Misha---and heaved a great relieved sigh. That had been almost too close. Misha was a weirder guy than he'd originally thought (which was saying something). Because really, who ever mentioned fucking and admitting to committing a form of stalking in their very first conversation with someone?!?!?!

Suddenly, a familiar bulk came rushing towards him as fast as the librarian would allow. Jensen was thankful that his best friend was there, because he figured he would need a body guard for the next few days. In a rush of fear that Misha might come back, Jensen grabbed Jared and yanked him back into the Sci-Fi section.

"Dude, I gotta tell you something," they whispered at the same time, in the same tone of voice. "You go first! No, you! Ugh, stop doing that!"

Jared finally just put his hand over Jensen's mouth. "Speak."

Jensen looked down at Jared's hand. The taller one realized what he was doing and took it away. Jensen blushed very hard and in a quick, small voice he started to tell Jared what had happened, when his friend interrupted.

"Oh, yeah, Misha? I saw that. I've been hiding in the Romance section. It's got the tallest shelves."

"Jared, i-it w-was s-so...s-so..."

"I know! I had to stand next to the Twilight series!"

Jensen glowered, blush still covering his cheeks. Jared smirked. "C'mon, it was a little funny."

"Not for me it wasn't!" Jensen took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "That guy's been stalking me since our sophmore year! He keeps staring at me with those eyes of his and freakin DRAWS me! Last year Jared, he SCULPTED me! It ended up being in the paper when he won the competition! That guy is so..." he paused, because Jared was staring at him like he'd just made out with a pig. "What?"

Jared continued to stare. Jensen repeated his question until his friend shook himself. "Sorry," Jared muttered, "It's just..."

"Jared, tell me!"

"SH!" Mrs. Burns scolded as she walked past. Once she was gone, Jared told Jensen.

"You didn't stutter at all, man. That's the first time I've ever heard you talk in a straight voice."

Jensen blinked repeatedly. "I...huh?"

"Listen to yourself!" Jared actually looked very excited and fascinated by this sudden turn of events. "Usually you're like..." he took Jensen's glasses, put them on, and turned his face to the floor, hands in his pockets. In a little mumble, he made some stammering noises.

Jensen crossed his arms, not amused. "Not funny."

Jared perked up again and put the glasses back on Jensen's face. "There it was again! I'm sorry, but I think you talk with Misha has cured you!"

"W-what? H-how could t-think that?"

Jared crinkled his nose, reminding Jensen strangely of a bunny. So, it was only a temporary fix? Well, it was a fix nonetheless.

"I think Misha could be good for you, buddy."

"WHAT?!"

"SHHH!!!"

Jensen lowered his voice again. "What are you saying, I spend time with him?"

Jared shrugged, indicating yes, that was exactly what he wanted him to do. Unbelievable. Was he trying to kill Jensen?

"No, I'm not trying to kill you."

What? Did he read minds?

"And no, I don't read minds. Your face is just easy to read." he pointed to the books with a childish laugh. "Like an open book! Ahaha, it's funny because you work in the library!"

Jensen huffed and trudged down the aisles. Jared caught up with him. "That's right! I have something to tell you too!"

"Boys, keep it down!" Mrs. Burns scowled, "One more time and will have to kick you out!"

"Sorry," Jared apologized with his dimple smile that made even the librarian blush and look away. He turned back to Jensen and whispered, "I ran into Genevieve earlier. Or, I guess you would only recognize her as Misha's best friend." he smirked as Jensen stammered out a denial before continuing. "But that's not all man. I mean, I literally ran into her. I fell on top of her."

Jensen's eyes widened. "Y-you did w-what?"

Jared bit his lip. "I fell on her. She's really little, remember? So when we crashed, she just...went down." he fiddled with his fingers, a small smile coming to his lips. "She was really pretty."

The doors opened, and Jared froze as said girl rushed back in to grab her bag, which she had forgotten on the table she'd been sitting at. She saw Jared and gave a small wave. "Um, hi Jared."

Jared opened his mouth, then closed it again. Jensen scratched the back of his head awkwardly. Genevieve just shrugged and packed up her novel. At this point, Misha came back in as well. He spotted Jensen and brightened. "Hello again."

Jensen wanted to use Jared's massive build to shield him from those stunning eyes. Wait, what?

The thought caught him so off guard that he took his glasses off and cleaned them in an attempt to avoid looking at Misha all together. But his hands were shaking a little by now, enough to make him fumble and drop them. He crouched down quickly to get them, when Misha picked them up instead.

"You look cute without them," Misha smile, as if that was the completely normal thing to say to a person. Jensen gulped and took them back. His eyebrows furrowed when he felt something in his hand. Misha and Genevieve left before he could open it and see what it was.

It was a small piece of paper that had a number on it. Jensen's mouth dropped. Jared, recovering from his Gen-Ogling, saw it, and burst out laughing. Mrs. Burns finally kicked them out of the library.

Chapter Text

Monday nights were a time of fun for Genevieve, specifically when the clock struck 9. Well, more when it struck 10, but whatever, the re-run episode was always fun to watch again. For those who tune into MTV at 9 and 10 on Mondays know what she is watching currently. Yes, you guessed it. Teen Wolf.

However, tonight, Genevieve was not able to watch the re-run as enjoyably as she normally could, because Misha decided to take it upon himself to plop down on her little frame and almost crush her to death.

"Mish! I'm trying to watch!" she gasped, "And to *breathe*! Get off of me!"

Misha of course just started talking. "Genevieve, you know you're only watching this re-run because of Ste--"

"Finish that sentence and you die."

"--rek."

"You are going to sleep tonight and never wake up."

It wasn't as if Genevieve was ashamed of being a Sterek fangirl. It was that the way Misha said it somehow spoiled the name. But then again, Misha could say "fluffy" and make it sound dirty.

"Did you come over here for a reason?" she finally asked when he decided to get off of her.

"But of course! I never come over without a reason!"

Genevieve just stared at him.

"Oh come on! Barging into your room in the middle of the night because I finally memorized V's introductory speech is a perfectly legitimate reason, and you know it!"

"Uh-huh. So what is your 'perfectly legitimate reason' this time?"

"I only wanted to know why you haven't secured the moose yet."

"...Misha, there are many things you have said in the time that I have known you that I fail to understand--"

"By moose, I mean Jared Padalecki, my lover's best friend."

Genevieve raised a brow just as Derek fell to the bottom of the pool on the TV. "You mean the guy who keeps avoiding me? The one who knocked me over today?"

"Yes. Why, is there another giant by the name of Padalecki running around?"

"Well, he has a brother."

"He does? How did you know that? See, you already stalk him! That is a sign of love!"

"No, I don't stalk him, he was just at the open house before we started going here. And stalking is only a sign of *your* love, Misha."

"Furthermore," Misha put up a finger to add, "He is not avoiding you like you think. Don't you notice how that guy ogles you like you're his Lolita?"

Genevieve felt her cheeks coloring. "I did *not* need that image in my head, first of all," she looked at the TV, "Second of all, hang on a second and wait for my third point."

After Stiles and Derek's so very obvious cuddling in the pool cut to commcercial break, she continued. "Thirdly, he does not look at me like that. He doesn't even like me."

Misha simply stared at her for what seemed like a month. "Do you need glasses?"

"What?"

"Is there something wrong with your eyes? Or are you just too short that you can't look up that high?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Gen, whenever he sees you, it's like he's that one leather jacket guy in that show you're watching when he looks at that buzz cut guy."

"You mean Derek and Stiles."

"Yes! It's like he wants to fuck you with his eyeballs! Jensen and I do that enough! You're not allowed to piggy back off of our methods of endearing communication!"

Genevieve continued to stubbornly deny it, but Misha's reasoning had always made sense in some sort of way to her, and this time was no different. Her heart started to pound as she remembered a few hours before in the library, the way Jared had sort of stumbled over himself when he saw her. And when he knocked her down, the way his face flushed red. Talk about walking cliche. And she loved pointing out cliches. So why hadn't she noticed this giant cliche, especially since it had been walking around for so long?

"Shit," she blinked.

"Don't worry," Misha patted her knee, looking like he was consoling a widow at her husband's funeral, "Love is blind. You're just blinder."

"Shut up."

"I will brush off that insult because you are having feels issues, and simply answer never."

"You keep saying 'never say never'."

"I may admire Justin Bieber, but I tell you now, that phrase only works when people are being stupid in a way that is unacceptable."

True. Telling Misha Collins to shut up is impossible. Still, it hadn't hurt to try, right? She should at least get a gold star.

"So...what should I do?"

Another great thing about Misha Collins is that he knows what to say in just the way you need it to be said so you can not only understand, but have motivation to follow through. "Gen, he is obviously head over antlers for you, and you still haven't stopped blushing. I say go after him. And if there are consequences, well at least you tried, and it's his own fault."

"Thanks Mish, I--"

"But if you *do*win him over, shove him into a closet and have your little way with him. Climb that mountain top, baby!"

Genevieve decided to at least try. Maybe not climb that mountain top *just* yet, though. And who knows, maybe Misha will be right, and Jared didn't hate her like she thought.

Tomorrow, she decided, was going to be the day she cornered Jared Padalecki and had an actual conversation.