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Chapter Text

Every time the end of an SNL season approaches, Colin can barely exist as a thinking, coherent person, and this one is no exception.

"Weekend update, I'm Colin Jost!" he exclaims, looking into the camera with the biggest smile he can force himself to display, and turns to look at his co-host when he does the same, bringing closure (finally!) to another season.

He greets the audience with genuine excitement, but his entire mood suddenly drops when he closes the door to his dressing room, the one he technically shares with Michael. The man is still talking to some of the staff; he knows this because he can hear him—or rather, he can hear the laughter he elicits from the rest of his coworkers—and he's surprised by the stamina he has to remain excited and in a good mood, when his head has been pounding for about three days in a row and he feels like he's about to fall asleep in the far from comfortable chair in front of his illuminated mirror. He crosses his arms on the makeup-covered table and rests his head against them, closing his eyes to try to rest for even five minutes.

It's not that he's fed up with his job—far from it—he loves it and sees every day as an opportunity to learn new things from all the talented people around him. However, it's true that sometimes it all gets to be a lot. Lots of noise, lots of photos, lots of lights, lots of laughter, lots of activity 24/7.

All of it wears him down, and Colin always thought he'd eventually get used to it (because, apparently, all the greats do), but he's been a regular host of Weekend Update and a writer for SNL for quite a few years now, and even then he can't shake the constant anxiety that he's sure to say or do something wrong, and everything he's built up in his life is going to come crashing down in one second. That's why he can't relax until the season ends, and he spends the last months surviving however he can, until it's finally all over and he can give himself the insane pleasure of watching Netflix until late and not checking his alarm three times before bed.

He's so lost in his head that he doesn't feel when someone enters the room, or when said someone calls him, or when they approach him from behind. What he does feel, however, is the pair of hands on his shoulders, forcing him to lift his head and look at the mirror in front of him.

Behind him is him, obviously, who else, "Colin, you're coming tonight, aren't you?" Michael still has his hands on him and is rocking on the balls of his feet while looking at his reflection. He struggles to answer for a second, and the man laughs and adds, "You kidding? The party, dude."

And Colin is tired, and doesn't want to go, but he nods. And he smiles, because Michael's face lights up at the statement, and he turns around to go 'tell Lorne'.

The blond hides his face in his hands, sighing. The things you do to see your best friend happy, right?

***

30 Rock's post-season celebration parties are always the same, and they can be summed up in one word: Chaos. They don't throw them in the building for obvious reasons, but at a bar they always reserve a few blocks away—it's discreet enough not to draw attention from anyone other than the guests, but surprisingly nice considering what you'd think if you walked by.

There's a lot of alcohol and music, which isn't loud enough to allow his guests to achieve the very purpose of this gathering: socializing outside of work. He doesn't feel like doing that right now, but he can't help it because everyone knows him, and he's not so brazen as to leave or avoid any conversation, or at least not for now. The lights in the place are low and warm, with a few colored spotlights that occasionally appear and only serve to worsen his dizziness.

Even so, or perhaps specifically because of this last reason, Colin constantly has a drink in his hand. First it's a can of beer, then another, then a vodka, then a whiskey, and then just whatever someone else passes him amid laughter and comforting taps on the shoulder.

He knows he talks to many of his friends. Sarah, Pete, Mikey, and Kenan grab him at one point to ask him questions, ones he answers with far less hesitation than he should, slowly feeling the lack of inhibition that alcohol produces in his body.

"What's up, Jost? Are you this much of a lightweight?" Sarah jokes when Colin stumbles over his own legs a couple of times in a row, demonstrating his obvious drunkenness when it's barely two o'clock and the best part of the party hasn't even begun yet. Slightly unsettled by his friend's words—because he's not that stupid, and he can see the concern in her eyes when she looks at him, even if she phrased the question as a joke—the man analyzes it and suddenly realizes that maybe it wasn't a smart decision not to eat anything at all before drinking as much as he's doing now.

He abruptly excuses himself from the conversation and walks toward the men's restroom, but ends up giving up when he sees the ridiculously long line to get in, so he leans against a nearby wall and closes his eyes, praying that a little while like this might help him lower his blood alcohol level a little.

He's been like this for an indefinite amount of time—five seconds, ten minutes, half an hour, it all seems surreal (and at the same time perfectly plausible, thank you for this, alcohol) to the blond—when something forces him to focus his gaze on the place once more.

As his eyes focus (which takes an embarrassingly long time), the sound that brought him out of the trance lingers, and when he finally recognizes it, he can't help but feel bad for how long it took him.

A laugh, more specifically his best friend's, resonates in the air, and Colin doesn't know why, but he can't and won't tear his gaze away from the man.

Michael is in the middle of the bar, talking to a couple of women he can't recognize due to his current state and because they're facing away from him, but he has just enough space between them to see the man's expressions when he's speaking. He's also grateful for his friend's height, because he's visible from a distance, making him conveniently easy to spot.

When he sees Michael like this, making others laugh and so at peace with himself, Colin can't help but think how incredible he is. It's not the first time he's thought this, and in fact, this feeling of pride also floods him every time one of his colleagues asks him about him and he can see the adoration in their eyes, every time he walks through the office hallways and hears the writers discussing some of the man's new ideas, every time they're together on the street and someone recognizes him first; whenever Michael stands out, in some way, he can't help but feel fulfilled and ridiculously happy, because, after all, he's his Michael. His incredible, intelligent, hilarious, and stupidly beautiful Michael.

Is this a normal feeling to have for your best friend, both being heterosexual men in their forties? Who knows, and normally he worries a little when the word 'beautiful', 'handsome', or 'pretty' flashes through his mind when he thinks of his co-host, but now he can't find the willpower to think of anything negative. Not when Michael is there, shining like never before, talking about something with emotion, amid laughter both from himself and from the group of people around him, which seems to only grow.

He stares at him for a while, allowing himself to focus on details he normally doesn't notice for fear of being caught in the act. For example, how the man's eyes light up when they fall on one of his friends, how he tries to hold back his smile mid-joke (and how he completely fails), how he gestures to make himself understood, how he loosens his tie with one hand, all without slowing down his stream of jokes and ironic comments, all without letting go of the can of beer he's holding in his other hand. He lets his gaze drop to his friend's arms, to how the dark blue jacket he's wearing hugs his biceps a little too tightly for his comfort, how his pants are also too tight and leave very little to his imagination, and he has to force himself to look up not long after for fear that the heat he's started to feel in his cheeks might be reflecting in a blush.

When he does, however, he finds something. Michael is staring at him. For a second, he freezes—because the man is analyzing him with a terrifying intensity and a furrowed brow, which startles him so much that he feels completely sober again purely from the shock—but instantly afterward he smiles at him, giving him a thumbs-up in an unspoken signal that he recognizes as a question, 'Are you okay?'

They stare at each other for a few more seconds, which to Colin seem like an eternity, until Michael seems to believe him and, after adjusting his gaze to a feeling the blond can't quite decipher, returns his attention to the group around him, who somehow seem unaware of their brief exchange.

When his friend's gaze leaves him again, Colin thinks the worst is over, but he realizes almost immediately that he's wrong, because his heart is pounding and he only has one thought in his head, one certainty.

'I'm in love with Michael Che.'

He automatically turns around, shamelessly cutting in line and entering the men's restroom with his hand over his mouth.

Michael feels nervous, and saying it like that is also an understatement. He's obviously happy because he's partying with his friends and his next week is going to be all about rest, but he currently has something on the back of his mind, something that's not letting him fully enjoy himself.

Well, the thought is not even in the background, and he realizes this when Bowen has to repeat, for the third time in five minutes, what he's trying to tell him because he can't follow the thread of the story.

"Sweetheart, can you tell me what he fuck got you this worried?" he asks, sounding surprisingly unaccusative for someone who's been ignored for a while now.

"Colin. Did you see him? It's been like two hours since..." he answers without thinking and with another question, not even looking at the man in front of him, instead letting his eyes dart from person to person, trying to locate where the hell his best friend is.

"Calm down, Michael, you're going to hurt yourself." At the answer, he finally looks at Bowen, and sees how he reaches out and pulls his arm down, forcing him to stop scratching his neck, a nervous tic his coworkers are becoming increasingly familiar with. He murmurs an apology that the other simply ignores and, resigned to the fact that the taller man isn't going to pay attention to him, decides to end the conversation and help him look for Colin.

For a small bar, and considering a missing adult man of no small stature, the task of finding him turns out to be very complicated. It doesn't help that it's already four in the morning and most people are even more intoxicated, which means that asking about the man often results in slurred, unintelligible words and clues that lead nowhere.

They search the bathroom, the staff lounge behind the bar, the bar's kitchen, and he still doesn't appear. They talk to the few people present who are still in decent shape, but they still get nowhere.

What doesn't help is that he, Michael, gets nervous too quickly when it comes to his friends, especially if it's Colin.

When they've been searching for forty minutes and he starts to think he's going to throw up from anxiety, he decides to take a break, walking to the bathroom to wash his face and—if he's lucky enough—clear his thoughts.

The bathroom is empty when he enters, and he's grateful because the noise outside is already overwhelming him. The truth is, he's not even that big a fan of these parties. Yes, he likes them because they're an opportunity to improve his bond with the rest of the cast, but he wishes they were shorter and more private. Two hours is the maximum he can manage with his social battery at 100%, and he usually leans on Colin to help him have fun for a little longer.

He thinks of his friend and the nausea returns, so he bends over one of the sinks and splashes water on his face while sighing.

He's always been paranoid, although most people would tell you otherwise if you asked them. He doesn't show it because he's had problems in the past because of that, but he's fiercely protective of those he loves, and that leads him to worry about everyone all the time.

He wants to stop the images that appear in his head, but the alcohol doesn't allow him much, so he thinks about Colin. That he could be anywhere, and that he hasn't seen him as drunk as he was tonight in a long time. That maybe he ran away and is on the dangerous night street of NYC. That he's an idiot, and should've told him to skip the party when he found him in his dressing room, because he could tell he didn't want to come. That right now they could be in his apartment eating pizza and drinking beer, falling asleep on his couch. That he should've gone over to him when he caught him looking at him with those eyes, with that lost puppy face that should obviously have served as a signal that something wasn't quite right. But he hadn't. Colin was his best friend, the person to whom he owed not only his job but much more, and he hadn't been able to take care of him when he needed it. Maybe it was ridiculous, maybe it was the alcohol making everything more catastrophic in his mind, but he couldn't stop thinking about the worst-case scenarios for the night.

"God..." At one point, Michael realizes he has to get back to searching, because self-loathing isn't going to help him, and he stands up straight again. Looking in the mirror and trying to convince himself that the worry isn't plastered all over his face, he mutters, "Colin... you white idiot."

He sighs once more and takes a couple of steps to try to leave when he hears a noise behind him, coming from one of the cubicles. That's all it takes, the sound of something falling to the floor, for him to approach the door and repeat his words.

"Colin?" he asks, pressing his ear against the wood and listening closely.

There are a few seconds of silence, and Michael takes a couple of steps back, checking to see if he can spot any shoes behind the door. He doesn't see any shoes, or sneakers, but he does see the source of the noise. Keys, keys he recognizes as his friend's.

"Colin, that's you, isn't it?" he asks again, louder this time, and tries to turn the handle only to find—in hindsight, obviously—that the cubicle is locked.

"...chael..." he hears a whisper from inside, and the world stops spinning for a moment when he manages to make out that it's Colin's voice, though it's barely audible.

"Yeah, it's me, bro. Can you let me in?" he tries not to sound as desperate as he feels but fails, though he knows the blond probably isn't in a state to mock him.

"...No...-hic- dont...want to," his best friend's voice sounds surprisingly assertive this time, though his words are slurred, and Michael can practically smell the alcohol on his breath from outside. Colin's refusal makes him tense, and his heart beats too fast (with worry, he forces himself to think, though there's something else he doesn't quite understand in the back of his brain) when the man laughs, loud and careless, after speaking.

"Colin, don't be an idiot, everyone's leaving," he decides to lie to him because it's starting to make him even more nervous to have him in front of him and not be able to see him than not knowing where he is, and he thinks this approach might be the most effective.

"I'm coming... then..." Colin mumbles, and he hears his feet hit the floor. So he was sitting on the toilet, Michael concludes. Has he been hiding? He wants to ask him, and in fact, he's about to when the blond's voice rings in his ears again, "Go away... I'm... busted."

And now it's his turn to laugh because, what the hell is Colin talking about?

"Okay," he knows it's best to play along, so he walks to the door and leaves, but he stands in front of it the whole time like a bouncer, until the man appears in his field of vision, and oh my god.

He barely takes two steps out of the bathroom when he falls, and if Michael weren't already waiting for him, he's sure he would have landed face first on the floor, based on the lack of resistance he offers when he grabs him by the shoulders.

"Michaeeellll!" Colin shouts, even though he's right next to him, and he frowns but manhandles him anyway, allowing him to lean on his shoulder so he can walk. Or at least he tries to, because the man pushes him away and starts looking around, his eyes wide but clearly blurry from the drinking, "Whyyyy... is no one leaving?! Liar!"

Colin's voice and choice of words attract more attention than Michael wants at the moment, so he rushes to answer, shushing him. "We are leaving, come on," and pulls him closer again.

Michael barely makes it to the door when he realizes Colin is clearly too drunk to walk, even leaning against him. If crossing the crowded bar was difficult—between the blond's constant complaining and his nonexistent ability to coordinate his legs, the maximum 15 meters from the back took them almost half an hour—his head hurts just imagining what a pain in the ass it will be to get him to his apartment.

"Michael... in the pocket... back... wallet", he hears Colin murmur, practically at his neck, and when he doesn't respond, adds, "Uber... leave me here."

"No, we're going to my house" the words come out practically instinctively from his mouth, rougher than he intends, and he unintentionally ends up tightening his grip on the blond's waist. He expects him to object, or at least make some joke about it, but the man next to him just stays silent, nods, and Michael can swear he sees a small smile on his face. "If I kneel down, you think you can climb on my back?"

To this Colin does object, and effusively so. That he's very heavy, that it's only a few blocks, that he can walk; three things that are a lie, if you ask Michael. He's not heavy, at least not that heavy for another adult man, his house is not that close, though not far enough to require a taxi, and he's definitely not in a shape to walk even another two meters.

"Prove it to me, Colin. Walk to the corner alone and that's it."

***

Michael was never a big fan of walks, much less at night, much less slightly drunk, and obviously much less with approximately 160 pounds on his back. He doesn't complain anyway, and surprises himself with how easy this feels. Normally, he would've made some sarcastic comment about the surreal nature of the situation, about how funny this must look from the outside—a big, grown man in a suit, carrying another big, grown man in a suit on his back, at five in the morning on a Sunday in New York City—but for some reason, he feels so comfortable it almost scares him. He's a little afraid of opening his mouth and ruining everything (what is everything? He doesn't know). He thinks if he breaks the calm silence that currently exists between them, Colin will realize how awkward this situation is and get angry.

He knows it's ridiculous, for two reasons. One, Colin would never get angry at him for taking care of him, even if he wakes up tomorrow and decides he doesn't agree with his methods, because he cares too much about people, even more about his friends, even more about Michael.

And two, because this isn't weird per se. It doesn't have to be, at least. They've been best friends for years, they've told each other everything, and they've done much stranger things than this. They've slept cuddled, they've changed in front of each other, they've even been mistaken for a gay couple more times than he can remember. These are all things that could easily happen in a platonic, chemistry-filled relationship, but Michael knows that somehow this is different, that something's off, and that he absolutely has to make sure Colin never, under any circumstances, finds out what's happening to him.

The man in question shifts behind him, slightly tightening the legs currently wrapped around his waist, and the feeling in Michael's stomach only gets worse. It also worsens, exponentially, when Colin buries his head further against his ear, practically breathing on him.

"Mhm... comfortable... Michael", Colin's voice, this time, given the proximity and the almost sweet tone of his words, makes the truth suddenly appear at the forefront of his mind, impossible to ignore. When he hears him snoring softly, when he realizes that the man is perfectly relaxed in his presence, that's when the dominoes fall.

'I'm in love with Colin Jost.'

Michael shifts the blond's legs a little to keep him from slipping, trying to keep the heat that seems to be rising in his chest under control.

Chapter Text

The reality of his situation hits him at a random moment. It's not when he kisses Che for the first time, nor when they formally start dating, nor when they talk to HR to explain their relationship, nor even when Michael and he move to the next base, nor during or after their first interview as boyfriends.

It happens on an ordinary morning, a normal weekend in his apartment. Colin half-opens his eyes, still half-asleep, feels Michael's warmth—his naked torso pressed against his back—and it dawns on him that, oh my God, this is real. That he's not dreaming, that this is his life from now on, and that he couldn't be happier about it. He feels the burning in his eyes and tries to get out of bed so as not to wake his boyfriend, but the man only tightens his grip on his waist, murmurs something, and apparently this is does it for him, because he simply bursts into tears, which obviously startles poor Michael.

"Love?", he asks, instantly letting go and sitting up in bed, an action he mimics. He's so obviously asleep, and the effort Colin can see he's making to understand what's happening only makes him cry more, even though he doesn't understand why this is happening.

"Hey, what's wrong? I almost had a heart attack, shit" Michael tries again, speaking so lovingly that he can't suppress the urge to throw himself at him, managing to extract a surprised noise from his chest, "Jesus Christ, if you wanted a hug, you know you can just ask for it."

When Colin calms down, they remain silent, cuddling for a while, but since neither of them can go back to sleep, they decide to get up, even though the clock tells them that it's barely nine in the morning—a ridiculously early time to start your day when you have the chance to rest more.

Michael offers to take care of breakfast, and he, terribly grateful for this, decides the wisest thing to do is probably take a quick shower and try to clear his head.

So he does just that, and as he lets the warm water run through his hair and down his neck, he begins to try and analyze what the hell that reaction was. It's only a few minutes later, though, when the smell of scrambled eggs seeps from under the door, distracting him a bit and forcing him to hurry up if he wants some warm food.

"Better, Jost?", is the first thing Michael asks when he walks through the kitchen door, wearing only shorts and a towel draped around his shoulders. He approaches his boyfriend and gives him a quick kiss in response, one that Michael happily accepts before turning around and getting back to making food.

Coffee and toast with scrambled eggs may be the most boring breakfast in the world, yes, but it's what he and Michael almost always eat, and he's fond of it for that. He smiles when he feels the familiar taste of the first bite of toast in his mouth, and although he's happy—and he's been since he woke up and since he started dating Michael, honestly—he can feel his boyfriend practically burning holes in him with the intensity with which he's staring at him. So Colin, who deep down has nothing to hide, takes a sip of his drink and decides to speak.

"I don't know what happened, I'm fine anyway," he begins to test the waters, looking the man in the eyes and meeting his worried gaze. "It's just... I don't know, I guess I realized this is all happening to me."

Michael looks a little taken aback, and since Colin can practically imagine what he's going to say when he opens his mouth and frowns, he quickly adds, "Like, you're dating me. You're my boyfriend. This is my life."

"And that makes you cry?" Colin notices that Michael's grip on his mug is a little too tight, and thinks maybe he's not expressing himself clearly enough.

"I never imagined I'd be this happy, babe", he murmurs, chuckling. His voice sounds much weaker than he intends, but he forces himself to continue. "I have a job I love and pays well, amazing and ridiculously talented friends, and now you're gonna tell me I'm also dating someone that is so..."

He can't finish, the words won't come out, and he realizes it's because he's crying again. He signals to Michael to wait a few minutes, which he does, all the while staring at him, his eyebrows knitted together.

"I know I'm a catch, well, I always thought that," he tries to speak again, this time bringing up the subject from another angle, and this makes Michael laugh, which in turn makes Colin's cheeks turn red, "Man, let me finish. Anyway, even thinking that, I never thought anyone would actually love me. I think what I really thought—and I think, maybe—is that more than being a catch, I seem to be, and much more than I am."

Michael says nothing, and Colin takes his silence as a sign to continue.

"So I was always dating people, women, for a while and that was it. Because I thought that they wanted the Colin Jost from TV, and not me. So I left, before they could leave. When I realized I was in love with you, it was different, for like a lot of reasons." Remembering those times makes him sentimental, and he can't help but smile as he blows his nose again. "Suddenly we were dating, and it all felt so surreal that I preferred not to think about it too much for fear that, in case it was all a dream, my tendency to overthink would break the spell. I guess the spell broke this morning, because I woke up and you were there and everything was so real, so tangible, and it was all mine. Ours. So I realized that, reflexively wanted to get up and you wouldn't let me, and I don't know why, but I felt so happy, so grateful that I just felt like crying, I guess."

When he finishes his pseudo-monologue, he looks up from his half-empty coffee cup and is surprised to see Michael, his Michael, also crying. When their eyes meet, the latter jumps up and crosses the table in half a second to hug him, so tightly that Colin has to grab onto it to keep them both from falling to the floor.

"You're an asshole, Colin, you fuck- motherfucker", and although what comes out of his mouth is a string of insults, he realizes that Michael's tone denotes nothing but love, so much and so strong that it makes him feel dizzy, so he hugs him back, laughing.

"You're so corny, bro", Michael blurts out a while later, when they've both calmed down and are sitting on the couch, with a show on the TV that neither of them is paying much attention to. Colin turns around, smiling and thinking how ridiculous it is that Michael still calls him bro at times, even now that their bond stopped being brotherly a while ago.

"I thought you liked that about me, dude", he replies sarcastically, and Michael simply tugs at his arm, pulling him closer to his body, a movement Colin doesn't resist.

"I like everything about you, dumbass", Michael's words aren't anything new, but they still make him feel like a teenager again, even more so when the man starts softly stroking his hair, "I haven't cried like that in so long, god.."

And Colin realizes that this obviously isn't a dream, and never could've been, because his mind simply doesn't have—never had, never will have—the capacity to invent someone as everything as Michael is.

"Me neither, that's like... insane, huh?"

Chapter Text

Colin's never seen Michael so taciturn, and he realizes the man is having a terribly bad Thursday as soon as he walks through the door of one of the building's meeting rooms. He arrives late (much later than usual, which is already something), with his coffee half-drunk in his hand and his half-opened backpack slung over one shoulder.

Michael is normally a quiet person when the cameras aren't rolling, but not like this either. Colin watches as his friend sits down in one of the chairs without saying a word, leaving an awkward silence in the air, one that lasts until he decides to clear his throat and continue with his explanation.

Or tries to, at least, because every five seconds his gaze shifts to Michael, who's sprawled in his chair, without looking up from the coffee cup in between his palms. He forces himself to keep giving writing prompts to the new guys, listens to their ideas for Update—and pays way too much attention to them, considering the only thing his head's screaming at him is 'figure out what the fuck happened. right now'. Colin concludes the meeting when the time they've spent debating feels appropriate enough.

"Hey, everything okay?" he asks as soon as they're alone, closing the door behind him and leaning against it to make sure no one enters. Michael doesn't answer, but looks at him and nods, smiling. Colin knows it's not a genuine gesture, but he doesn't push it.

"I've got a couple of jokes in mind, I wanted you to come to my office to see if you'd approve them." He changes the subject, turns around without waiting for a reply, and has to suppress the sigh of relief that wants to escape him when he hears the man's footsteps behind him.

Michael's body speaks volumes, Colin realizes when they're sitting, thighs touching, in his office sofa with a stack of papers in hand. It's not that the man is shy or struggles with speaking, but he always shows more nonverbally. Or maybe Colin is madly in love, and that's why he notices all the signs. Because he looks for them. Well, it doesn't matter why, the point is that being so perceptive helps.

That's why, when he sits down and the man presses himself against his side—even though there's plenty of room, because Colin bought a giant sofa on purpose, so he could sleep on it—alarm bells ring in his head again. Just like they did before, when the man walked in without saying hello. And without shaving. And without looking at him.

The problem now is that he doesn't know what to do. Yes, he's gotten to the point of being aware of Michael's mood, but he still hasn't mastered the next step: acting accordingly. And that makes him very nervous, especially when he's so close and can practically feel the man's frustration oozing out of his pores.

"Bro, I told you I'm fine", Michael's angry tone snaps him out of his trance a bit, and he realizes he's been just staring at him, so now they're making eye contact, and it's too close and too intense. He turns his head and apologizes. Michael mumbles something else, which Colin can't quite make out, and continues commenting on his jokes.

Once again, Colin does his best to pretend he's focused on the conversation and not lost in his own head. He thinks he's failing miserably, but neither of them says anything.

***

The day flies by, and the next one too, and he doesn't see Michael at all. Which is surprising, considering they usually spend most of their time together, between meetings and rehearsals. The upside is that Michael is in a relatively good mood again, which makes the man's insistence on not speaking to him even stranger.

In fact, if he allows himself to be paranoid, he even seems to be avoiding him. Strictly speaking, he does see Michael several times, both days, but every time they make eye contact (from hallways away, because he doesn't even get close), the man happens to grab one of his coworkers and drags them somewhere, amid exclamations of 'lets go see that', 'i need your help for a sec' or  'i think someone was looking for us'. Well, now that he thinks about it more carefully, he's clearly avoiding him.

There's a problem -another one, actually. Its currently Saturday, 12 p.m., and in just a few hours they have to start preparing for Update. And he's been exchanging minimal words with Michael for two days. And the whole show is sustained by the chemistry between them. Chemistry that, for some reason he can't figure out, he's not currently feeling.

He knows the audience will notice, because they're either ridiculously intelligent or just plainly annoying, and he can't let that happen. Even more so because this situation was obviously born out of a stupid reason, one that Michael is unnecessarily magnifying by behaving like a little kid. Still, he doesn't understand what's going on, because Michael has never acted like this, even when they've had ugly fights. More than angry, the man seems uneasy. He avoids his gaze and tries to evade being alone with him at all costs. But that can't be it, he reminds himself. Surely what's happening is that he, in his lovesick fool's brain, is projecting his desires onto his friend.

That's his theory right now, as he walks toward the dressing room they both share. On Thursday, Michael surely had a complicated morning due to external factors. Colin worried too much—perhaps he looked at him with a little too much love, a little too much yearning—and consequently made him uncomfortable. So what he has to do now is simple. He's going to corner him (just to keep him from running away, and not in that way, although he'd like to), and he's going to try to treat him the way he was doing before Thursday. If he accepts his friendly truce instantly, great, and if not, he'll apologize and that's it. Michael isn't so stubborn—or stupid—as to not accept it, either, is he?

Apparently he is, because even when Colin enters the dressing room, Michael doesn't look at him, and pretends to be focused on tying his tie.

"Dude, you ready?" he asks, ignoring the man's masterful dodge, flashing a grin from ear to ear. Michael looks at him through the mirror and frowns. He sighs, 'Colin, the guy can't appear beaten up on live TV.'

"Sorry if I did something weird, haha!" He tries not to break his happy facade, but it's getting harder and harder, especially when Michael grunts and still doesn't say anything. When he sits down in his chair—next to Michael's, each of them has a small table with a mirror—the man visibly tenses. Colin is just about to say something else, but Michael beats him to it.

"The show's gonna be fine, Jost, if that's what you're worried about," Michael's words cut through the tension in the air like a knife, and Colin can't help the sound of disbelief that comes out of his throat. If he was going to talk nonsense, he'd have been better off keeping quiet.

"Jost? Are we fighting now?" Colin glances at him, adjusting his tie as well, though it's mostly just to do something with his hands. "You know I'm not worried about the show. It's yo-"

Now it's Colin's turn to tense up, because Michael slams his palms on the table in exasperation and turns to face him.

"Don't be like that", the man finally looks at him, and Colin is surprised by the expression on his face, the harshness of his tone. Is he angry or sad? He can't understand it, and that's weird. He just knows he doesn't like it. Seeing him like this, and being treated like this by him.

"Like what, a good friend?" he ends up sounding more sarcastic than he intends. A defense mechanism, he supposes, as he adds, "How awful of me, worrying about my best friend when he literally WON'T TALK TO ME!"

"Do you know what you are? Insufferable, Jost, that's it." Michael's chest rises and falls with a bit much force for someone who's just talking, and Colin is just about to feel bad for treating him so roughly when Michael unleashes a combination of words that makes all guilt disappear in a second.

"Let me breathe, for God's sake, I never asked you to worry about me in the first place."

Michael blinks, and suddenly Colin's on top of him, making him fall back from his chair. He feels the pain in the side of his face long before he even understands what's happening.

"You're an asshole!"

"Oh, fuck off!"

And suddenly they're two young boys again, wrestling on the floor of the school hallway. Suddenly all their feelings are so strong, so outsized, so wild, and the only way to keep them under control is to let them out in the form of force, of violence. Punching, scratching, pulling clothes, anything works.

Colin's rational side is screaming at him, begging him to stop. For more than one reason. Because he's not the strongest of the two, because they have a show in literally a few hours, because he knows things aren't resolved this way between two adults, because he can feel the tears streaming down his face and doesn't like what it means, but most of all because he's hurting Michael. And he doesn't want to, but he doesn't know what the hell to do either. He has the tools, the resources, because he's not a kid anymore, but he still doesn't know the way, and once again his feelings overwhelm him.

At least Michael is feeling the same, it seems that way, that's what he thinks when he ends up lying on his back, with the man straddling his waist, his hands on his chest effectively holding him immobile.

Seeing him from this angle, from this position he never expected to be in (and certainly not in this situation), Michael looks to him more attractive than ever, and thinking that makes him feel guilty. Because the man is panting, his clothes are disheveled, his nose is bleeding, and his eyes are red. He's crying too, he realizes, and his heart slams so hard at the discovery that if he were told this was a stroke, he'd believe it.

He reaches out, not quite understanding why—perhaps to try and touch his cheeks, perhaps to bring him closer, perhaps to push him as far away as possible—but Michael doesn't let him. He slaps his wrist, but he doesn't move. In fact, Colin's sudden action makes Michael look down at him once more, and the moment is probably the most intimate thing either of them have ever had in their lives. Much more private and personal than any sexual experience, definitely.

"You're beautiful, Michael..." That's it, Colin thinks, when his brain doesn't catch up in time and the words roll out of his lips before he can stop them. That's it, now that he's said what he's wanted to for so long, here comes the worst part, where he's going to lose his best friend, the most important person in his life. Michael doesn't say anything, and he can't quite decide if the silence makes him more nervous or calms him down, because at least it's not a direct 'that's fucking disgusting.' Although, really, Michael would never say that, because he's such an understanding man and a good person, and probab-

Something stops his train of thought abruptly, and it takes him a couple of seconds to understand what's happening. When he does, he reciprocates the movement as best he can from his position. It's a kiss. With Michael. Part of him wants to pull away and ask what this means, but the other just implores him to focus on the sensation, in case this ends up being the first and last time their lips are locked together.

So he does that, and memorizes everything he can.

How Michael's cheeks feel wet to the touch, and the almost pained sound he makes when he tries to wipe them with his shaky fingers.

How the man's lips are somewhat chapped and have a slight salty taste, though the latter is probably due to their tears.

How Michael trembles when his hand finds a comfortable place at the base of his neck.

How he seems about to melt beneath his touch.

How, if he thinks about it, the man seems to have been longing for this moment as much as him.

For once, Colin allows himself to believe the dreamy part of his head, his almost teenage side, the one who believes in bestfriends-to-lovers stories, and breaks the kiss.

"I've loved you. For years. I love you."

Colin drops back his head to the floor, and it's harder than he expects. Ouch! He can see in real time how the words, along with the sound of the movement, register in Michael's mind. He sees his eyes widen, his brow furrow, his gaze scrutinize him for a few seconds, and then, finally, he smiles at him. And it's genuine.

Michael doesn't say anything at the confession, but for some reason this time Colin isn't bothered by the hesitation, the silence. Well, maybe because you don't have to be too smart to realize the man's unspoken answer. And Colin, being the damned lover that he is, obviously notices.

He confirms his suspicions when Michael helps him up, and when he doesn't let go of his hand even when they're already sitting, snuggled up against each other.

"Dumbass. Me too."

***

"Shit. Lorne's gonna kill us if we cancel Update."

"It's either him, or the makeup artists, you choose. Our fate's already sealed."

Chapter Text

Colin is definitely the more emotional of the two, but that doesn't stop Michael from being surprised when the man slams the door as he leaves his office, leaving him standing there, his mouth open and his hand raised halfway to stop him. He's surprised for several reasons, listed in this order:

-Colin usually shows his happiness or excitement without restraint, but he knows how to control himself when he's angry.

-Colin never raises his voice unless it's to laugh, much less like this.

-Colin has never made these kinds of scenes at work; he's too considerate of others.

-Colin has never made similar scenes before, primarily because they've never had an argument this bad.

In addition to all the abnormality of his boyfriend's behavior, Michael is paralyzed because, for once in his life, he doesn't know where he fucked up. Being a television personality, he's constantly attentive to his words, his gestures, his appearance—and that's why he usually realizes instantly when one of his jokes bomb—but this time he can't think of the moment when the blond started getting so angry.

'Let's recap, Michael, let's think', he repeats to himself as he peeks down the hallway and sees his boyfriend hurrying toward the elevator. He wants to follow him, but should he? What ensures that if he runs after him, he won't choose his words poorly again?

Fear weighs a little more than worry, so he sits down in his office couch, resting his head against the back and throwing an arm over his eyes.

Everything had started well this morning. Normal, as peaceful as a Wednesday of a workweek at SNL can start.

He'd woken up with a familiar mix of aromas in his nose: coffee brewing, light sweat, and the smell of the fabric softener Colin used on his sheets. He could hear the storm outside, and the chaos of honking horns and brakes that it created on the streets of New York. But there, inside his apartment, it was peaceful, as always.

They'd had breakfast together, as always.

They'd gotten in the car on the way to work, as always.

They'd started the day by having a meeting with Lorne and the writers to discuss the next Update episode, which wasn't routine but was usual, so he counted it as 'as always.'

The first warning sign appeared in his head when he remembered their lunch break a few hours earlier.

Colin had started eating without him in one of the many break rooms in the building, but they usually did that, and he didn't take it personally. He had sat down across from him and, opening the wrapper of his sandwich, the minutes had passed in perfectly comfortable silence. At least for him.

Let's see, yes—to be honest—he'd noticed Colin was a little restless, almost defensive, but it didn't seem more than that, and he usually attributed it to work stress. He'd also been more intolerant of every tiny noise Michael made while eating. Or drinking water. Or breathing, basically.

Colin had practically walked out with half a sandwich in his mouth, without saying a word and frowning.

And well, maybe Michael should've said something there. But Colin could be a lot sometimes. Too much.

Then, during the next meeting, Colin had been unbearable. Well, not so much for Michael because he knew how to simply dissociate and that's it when the man got like that. That skill, however, wasn't shared by all his colleagues, because many had complained openly about how difficult it was to work with Colin on these kinds of days.

Colin had been tense, rejecting every idea offered to him, his face fixed in an expression that mixed pure discomfort and disgust, one Michael knew well and didn't want to be the recipient of. Because of this, he hadn't said a word throughout the meeting, and as soon as it was over, he'd returned to his office. Colin followed him, though he hadn't noticed until the man closed the door behind him.

"Colin, love, do you need anything?" he'd asked, analyzing how his boyfriend's eyebrows were drawn together, forming wrinkles on his forehead, and how his shoulders looked like stone, so tense.

Colin had sighed, obviously fed up with something or someone Michael hadn't quite understood. Not again, he'd thought.

Fast-forward about fifteen minutes, and just like that, we're back in the present.

Michael's too busy thinking, his brow furrowed, the answer on the tip of his tongue, when his cell phone rings and completely distracts him. He growls loudly, but ends up reaching for the table.

"Yeah?" He picks it up without looking and answers, still with his eyes closed.

"It's Colin. What the hell happened between you two? He looked like unwell or something, I followed him just in case and-" Marcello's voice has an accent that doesn't take him more than five seconds to recognize as fear, and as soon as he does, he jumps up from the couch, the phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear.

"Where are you?" He doesn't let the man on the other end of the line finish speaking or answering, and is already leaving the office, heading for the elevator. He has a suspicion of what he's going to get in response, and Marcello confirms it instantly.

"In the closet behind the Update set, hu-"

Michael hangs up, sees the elevator line, turns around, and runs down the emergency stairs.

As he runs out of air from the abnormally long strides he's taking to get there as quickly as possible, it seems the lack of blood to his brain somehow clears his mind, and he can't help but laugh because the answer was so obvious. The solution. The mistake. It was all there from the beginning.

He stumbles a couple of times and has to grab the railing to keep from falling and rolling, but in the end, he arrives without any accident.

He opens the door, rushes out, and almost runs head-on into the brown-haired man. They don't say a word, but Marcello steps out of the way and, with a nod, indicates to Michael that his boyfriend is still where he left him.

"I'm coming in, love," he announces as he approaches the closet door, and Michael feels his heart in his throat as he places his hand on the handle.

Colin's image is new, and while he normally appreciates every side of the man life has the kindness to show him, he instantly decides he doesn't want to see him like this anymore. The blond man is sitting in a corner, hugging his biceps and resting his forehead on his knees. His shoulders are moving—up and down, up and down, at a terrifyingly fast pace—and he doesn't seem to have noticed or heard him enter, so Michael reaches out to touch him.

And when he does, Colin looks up, and that's when Michael definitely feels like he's going to die. His eyes are wide open, unfocused, and his brow furrowed. Never, not since they became a couple a couple of months ago, nor in all their years as friends, has he ever seen him with such a desperate, weak expression. Colin is a sensitive man behind closed doors, so he's seen him cry and complain about stupid things, but nothing compares to the genuine panic he can read on his face right now. Sweat is dripping down his forehead, his eyes are completely moist, and Michael can't help but think he looks pathetic. And that he wants to make sure that whatever reduced his boyfriend to this state has to go away now. Even if it's him. Even if it means changing things about himself he's never paid attention to.

"Colin, baby, give me your hands, easy," Michael whispers when he looks down and sees the blond's nails digging hard into the skin of his arms, leaving red marks under the sleeve of his T-shirt. Colin obeys without question, and when their palms meet, Michael realizes he's trembling like a sheet of paper.

"Mic- god-," his boyfriend's voice barely reaches him—it goes quite unnoticed between his rapid breathing, the noises outside, and his own pounding heart—but it does, and the tone drives him even more desperate. I can't be scared, Colin's already having a bad time alone, he repeats to himself, and tries to look at him with as much affection and calm as he can. Apparently it helps, a little, because Colin manages to continue, "I can't- breathe-"

Michael remains silent for a few seconds, because he's so, so scared. Everyone knows, everyone has read at some point what to do if something like this happens to someone (the blessed 54321 method, which he'd heard everything about), but nothing really prepares you for seeing your favorite person in this state. Michael looks at him and wants to do something, anything to help him, but he's on the verge of crying too because even though he should remember the things he's read, the only thought in his head is what the hell's gonna happen if I make a mistake again. He thinks he wants to scream, scream at his brain to wake up, scream at his boyfriend to please calm down, scream at the anxiety and the suddenness of the whole situation, but he can't do that either. Obviously.

"Can I hold you?" He doesn't know why he asks, but he does it anyway, and Colin hesitates but ends up nodding. He pulls him towards his body, suppressing the urge to scream when he hears the soft, pained moan that escapes his boyfriend's trembling lips. He rests one of Colin's hands against his chest, under his shirt, and leaves the other pressed against his, their fingers still intertwined.

"Let's breathe together, okay?" he speaks as softly as he can because Colin's head is buried in the crook of his neck and he doesn't want to overstimulate him, and he feels a modicum of reassurance when the blond nods and inhales shallowly.

"With this hand, you'll feel how I breathe," he feels kind of stupid talking to his boyfriend like he's a little kid, but he does it anyway, drawing counterclockwise circles with his finger on the back of Colin's hand, which he's resting on his chest to indicate. Moving their clasped hands a little, he continues his explanation, "If you lose focus, grip my hand with all all your might, and try to think about what's happening now, that I'm here and I'm not going to leave. We can stay as long as it takes."

Colin trembles in his arms, and Michael feels the fabric on his shoulder growing damper.

He uses his free hand to gently stroke Colin's back and begins. He repeats it out loud. Inhale. Pause. Exhale. He doesn't want to stop talking because he's doing it out of inertia, and he's afraid of losing his focus, going blank, or making the situation worse, so he tries to stay grounded himself.

After a couple of sets, he loses track of time. Colin squeezes his hand very tightly several times, and it hurts, a lot, which is understandable because he's a grown man who goes to the gym all the time, but he doesn't say anything and continues, forcing himself not to drop his reassuring tone. Little by little, the man calms down. First, he stops crying, then the intervals between squeezes become longer, then his tremors become less and less noticeable, and finally, his breathing evens out.

But even when they're both breathing in sync and at a normal pace, Colin doesn't move, and the momentary relief Michael allowed himself to feel for a second leaves his mind too quickly.

"Thank you," he hears the blond murmur just as he's about to push him away to ask if he needs anything else. "Don't wanna talk. Let's stay like this."

And that's what they do, at least until Marcello opens the door, slowly and pale as a ghost.

"W-thank God..." The smile the man gives them when he sees them hugging makes Michael suddenly more aware than ever of what incredible coworkers he has.

"Great, Marcello, thanks," he replies, still stroking Colin's head and running his fingers through his locks. The man against his chest doesn't look up.

Marcello doesn't say anything else, just nods and leaves, leaving them alone. While he waits for his boyfriend to recharge enough energy to get up, Michael can't help but think how lucky he is to have the people around him. Because even one of the new guys—Marcello has only been working at SNL for a couple years—followed Colin, looked out for him when he didn't have to, and knew who to call in a stressful situation like this.

They're definitely going to have to get him something as a thank you.

Back to the current situation, Colin finally leans back from Michael, and the movement allows the man to breathe easy.

He opens his mouth to say something, his boyfriend does the same, and for a second they stare at each other, tacitly debating who'll speak first. They try again, both at the same time, and the cartoonishness of the situation—both of them gaping, staring at each other, agitated, and just inches away from each other inside a closet—makes them laugh. Michael feels his heart clench when he hears the sound of Colin's laughter, and he's amazed once again by how quickly a person can go from one state to another, by how humans can make such diverse and different sounds in such a short amount of time.

They leave the closet without even discussing what just happened, and although Michael knows he should give his boyfriend time to internalize his feelings, he can't help but feel anxious and, above all, guilty.

"Sorry, really," he says when he can't stand the pressure the feeling creates in his chest any longer, and for a second he feels like he's messed up again. Colin looks up from his laptop, and the instant between their eyes meeting and him finally answering him seems like an eternity—though it's probably not even a second.

"Why? I was overwhelmed by a lot of factors during the day and work and whatever, but it's not your fault, idiot," Colin types again mid-sentence, and the fact that he can't look him in the eye when he speaks doesn't feel good.

"Something like this never happened to you, not with me. What was different about today?" Michael wants to know; he needs Colin to give him information about what he did wrong, or what he didn't do instead.

"I haven't had an attack this intense since college, but I've got no clue. It's probably just a burnout, nothing else" the man laughs, and Michael wants to yell at him again. It can't be that it's so hard for him to say something negative.

"Seriously, Colin, beyond that. If you were overwhelmed I should've done something, but instead I played dumb because I didn't want to deal with it," he sees how the blond's shoulders tense again at the revelation that, indeed, Michael'd been at least somewhat aware of his state, and he feels guilty about it. But the mistake has already been made, so he figures the least he can do is tell him the truth.

"I never thought you'd get to that point, but it still wasn't okay. I'm sorry, really, I need you to tell me how I can help you next time." Sitting in Colin's office sofa, Michael clutches a pillow in his arms as he talks to stay calm, and the childish nature of his actions makes him laugh a little, "Or better yet, so there won't be a next time. Tell me what's bothering you about me. I promise I'm not sensitive enough to take it the wrong way, and I really don't care if it bothers me, because as long as you're okay and-"

Michael hears Colin's chuckle, looks for him, and when he finds him, all the worry in his body disperses with almost comical speed. His boyfriend smiles at him, and it's an expression of surprise and affection so genuine it makes him feel dizzy.

"Thanks, Michael, for earlier and for this," Colin murmurs as he stands up, and Michael barely has enough time to react—and open his arms—before his boyfriend throws himself on top of him.

"Fuck! Can't you see I've got my phon-" His suuuper-real complaint is cut off by Colin's arms, which squeeze him so tightly he squeals. At Michael's unusually high-pitched sound, his boyfriend bursts into laughter. Michael tries to silence him, covering his mouth out of embarrassment that the whole office floor might hear him, but gives in and simply smiles. He feels his body warm from his boyfriend's closeness and attitude, and feels foolish once again for his behavior today. He remembers that although Colin is indeed a lot, that applies both ways. He can be very intense and sometimes unmanageable when he's upset or frustrated, but when he's well, happy, he's terribly kind, brilliant, caring, and so sweet to him and everyone else. Is Colin a person who requires more than most? Yes, maybe so, but he thinks he's willing to give that extra. He's worth it. His Colin is worth it.

"I'm your boyfriend, Colin, it's the least I can do, goddamn", he murmurs in response, though he doesn't know if the blond even hears him over his laughter.

Chapter Text

Michael tends to be easy-going and quite relaxed, which from the beginning of their professional relationship had been convenient in contrast to Colin's controlling personality. On the work front, they 'd meshed perfectly. Colin would get nervous, Michael would ground him, and the show would go well.

Something similar had happened in their friendship, because little by little Michael had begun to notice that his weaknesses were the other's strengths, that he could comfort Colin's insecurities when he was feeling down, and that Colin knew what was happening to him without having to ask. So, with those areas as background, he'd hoped their romantic relationship would feel that way too. It was as if he'd finally found the missing piece of the puzzle, as if his edges and Colin's fit together perfectly.

But that didn't happen. Quite the opposite. In their first few months, they spent their time arguing. Not fighting, because there was no intention of harming the other. They just had many differences, and their apparent inexperience in being in a gay relationship came to light. Michael had thought it would be the same, after all, how different can it be to be with a man than with a woman?

Turns out, very. It's not easier even though they're best friends, nor is it more difficult because they're coworkers. The differences lie in the fact that they're both men, and while that fact obviously doesn't bother either of them, it's in the air.

At SNL, no one has a problem with them coming out—because, honestly, queers seem drawn to comedy like lightning bugs to, well, light—and while the audience receives them quite well, there's always a news story or two, a comment or two, something insulting them. They both say it doesn't affect them, but it still doesn't feel good to read that, knowing that their audience is full of LGBT people, people more vulnerable than them. But hey, the comments rarely escalate beyond the computer, so they can ignore it pretty well.

The problem lies, above all, in the sexual aspect—well, practically only in the sexual aspect. That's where Michael feels most uneasy, even though he'd sound like a pervert if he confessed how much he thought about it.

Colin is different, physically, from all the other people (women) he's been with. That goes without saying—Colin is bigger, taller, more muscular. And Michael adores him, obviously. But even so, even if his boyfriend's body makes him feel hot and evidently makes him want to do (and let him do) a thousand things, whenever the man initiates a sensual interaction, he freezes.

They've argued about it in the past, and then Michael was forced to confess that what he felt was fear. Panic about not making him feel good.

The last time he'd felt this insecure was in his teens, back when searching for 'how to use condoms' felt like a guilty pleasure.

Michael wasn't innocent; he knew how gay sex worked, but it was still a new experience, and... it was Colin, that was the problem, deep down. He wasn't just any man; he was one he considered almost sacred, and therefore every part of him was sacred as well.

But Colin is getting anxious, and it makes sense, because they've been dating for six months, and even though they've gotten used to each other's vices and no longer butt heads all the time, that thing continues to follow them everywhere like a ghost. A rather insistent one, if he may add.

In moments like this, however, Michael's doubts and insecurities disappear. How could he possibly care when Colin is lying on his chest, his head buried against his neck and their legs lazily entwined?

From his position, Michael can see the top of his boyfriend's head, and how his normally neat hair is completely messed up. As he strokes his bare back and the sun streams through the window, all he can think about is how much he loves him, and that nothing, no difficulty or obstacle in the road, will ever be enough to make him give up on his desire to be together.

And that he's definitely going to give Colin something more, something more than a kiss. Although that's less romantic.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Colin groans, sighing heavily, and he can't help but smile.

"God bless Sundays..." Colin murmurs a while later, when he's sitting in the armchair next to Michael, his legs pulled up over his lap.

Michael runs his hand down his thighs without thinking much, and makes up his mind. Before next weekend.

***

Colin is quite controlling, and that ends up meaning he notices everything. Too quickly, and it usually works against him more than for him, no matter how positive it might sound if he told you. You are aware of many more things in the rest than the average person, and that's incredibly stressful in the long run. Especially when 'the rest' is your boyfriend. And when he's acting weird.

From his position, lying shirtless on Michael's couch, he can hear the shower and see the bathroom light coming in through the half-open door. The man has been showering for much longer than he normally does, and he has to force himself to slow down, convincing himself that one can be distracted by a thousand things in the shower, that Michael could be doing anything besides preparing a conversation. That's his fear, and it's justified. Michael's moment of peace, Colin noticed a while back, is bath time. Well, those fifteen minutes. When they fight, it lasts longer. The same thing happens when the man is sad for some reason. And the same thing is happening now. Except they're not fighting—or at least he doesn't think so—and Michael hasn't given him any indication that he's emotionally depressed.

What is true is that Michael is nervous, and that mood rubs off on him, and he can't help it. It's especially frustrating that every time he's tried to talk to him over the past week, the man has dodged him in the most discreet way possible, slipping away among his coworkers.

But now it's Friday, it's nighttime, and they don't have to get back to work until mid-morning on Saturday. And they're sleeping together, so Michael won't have any choice but to face his questions. Well, or maybe he'll be the one who has to face whatever has his boyfriend so worried.

Colin stretches out against a pillow, hiding half his face and breathing deeply.

"Hey, dude," Michael appears in the doorway, his skin still a little damp and wearing only jeans, and Colin forgets for a second everything he has to say.

***

Michael steps out of the shower with renewed confidence. It has to be today, now. It sounds like he's forcing himself, and maybe he is a little bit, but sometimes setting a deadline is the only way to move, or at least that's how he justifies it.

It's just Colin. But at the same time. God, it's Colin!

He sits down next to his boyfriend and is more restless than ever, hyperaware of how he looks at him, how they both breathe, every detail of the moment.

Okay, enough. With that as his mantra and a quick movement, he turns and kisses him. Colin lets out a small noise of surprise but reciprocates, so Michael takes the initiative to push him until he's lying on his back, half-lying against one of the armrests. He deepens the kiss, trying to think as little as possible about what he's doing, and places one of his hands on the side of Colin's waist while holding the other next to his head. He knows he wants to enjoy the moment because it's going to be their first time together, but at the same time, he's afraid of overthinking if he's too present in the situation. At the same time, it's also disrespectful to Colin to do it halfway, but at the same time—

His heart is beating too fast, his head is spinning too much, and he's so foggy, and suddenly he feels a hand on his chest. And it's not a sexual touch, but an attempt to get away. So that's what he does, he pulls back abruptly, his gaze fixed on Colin's face. That's it, he thinks, I've already screwed up, I've already made him feel bad, he already didn't like something. He tries to analyze his boyfriend's expression as quickly as he can, but the man opens his mouth first and reminds him why he's not the one with that ability.

"You're shaking. What's wrong?" Colin sounds so genuinely concerned when he looks at him, and he can't imagine what face he's making to elicit that response. Then Michael looks down at his hands—which now, after moving, are resting at his sides—and when he does, he realizes the man is right. He's shaking, and the movements are quite visible. Colin follows the movement of his eyes, frowning. "What the fuck are you doing, Michael?"

He doesn't know how to respond, so he looks at him. Michael looks at his stupid blue eyes, full of affection and longing, looks at his knitted brows and wrinkled forehead, looks at the way he bites his lip and tries to read him. And it's Colin, nothing else, for God's sake!

"I want us to sleep together. Like, you know, sexually," the way he puts it makes them both laugh, but Michael continues, without breaking eye contact, "But it scares me. A lot. I've been thinking about this all week. Well—for a lot more, doesn't matter. The point is, I wanted to do it today. So I said, that's it, let's not think about it so much. But then I felt bad, because I don't want to give you anything less than my 100%. And then I felt bad again, and then that again. I don't know, it's stupid and I kinda know it, but at the same time I'm worried 'cause it's you. And you're not even just my boyfriend, or just my best friend. And what am I supposed to do if it turns out you don't like the way y-"

Even though he's staring at him, Michael is equally surprised when Colin just bursts out laughing. His eyes widen, not knowing if he should get angry, continue speaking or God knows what.

"God—you're an idiot!" Colin speaks, giggling, and since he's half-naked, Michael can see the muscles in his torso moving when he does so, when he breathes, when he tries to suppress another fit of laughter.

"Sit up straight, give me a sec", is the first thing Colin says when he finally calms down, and Michael obviously obeys, albeit with visible confusion on his face.

"What are you doing, Col—" he tries to vocalize his doubt, but the words catch in his throat when the man crouches down in front of him, and that's when he realizes his plans. He opens his mouth again to say something, anything, but Colin looks up and they make eye contact, and suddenly he's mesmerized.

"You're such a pain, always trying to do all the work" Colin's voice is definitely deeper than usual, and Michael can feel in real time all the blood rushing from his head to his lower stomach. Colin still doesn't do anything but look at him, because he's not even touching him, but even so, Michael feels incredibly overwhelmed by the situation. In a good way, anyway.

"Instead of thinking so much about how I feel, just ask me, dumbass" Colin speaks in a sweet, slightly mocking tone, and—finally—places his palms on Michael's knees and forces him (quote unquote, because he isn't met with any resistance) to open his legs a little, "You're not the only one who's scared."

Michael wants to laugh at this, because honestly, Colin doesn't seem very nervous, but the sound coming out of his mouth sounds more like a whimper or a nervous exhalation than a laugh.

Everything happens in slow motion, and it's so surreal that Michael can't tell if it's happening exactly as he imagined, or if he's being surprised again. The situation happens in flashes, separated only by the man's blinks, who is currently doing his best to stay grounded and retain as much of the memory of this moment as possible.

"Fuck-" he hears Colin mutter as he struggles with his belt, and when Michael looks down, he finds his boyfriend wearing a focused expression that he finds both endearing and arousing in equal measure.

"Need help, love?" he forces his voice to sound confident, and apparently succeeds, because Colin snorts and steps back a little to let him. What doesn't make him look confident, however, is how (still) visibly he's shaking when he reaches for his belt buckle. He manages to unbuckle it, peeling it off in one motion, and the sound it makes against the floor as he throws it across the room only makes him more anxious.

Michael throws his head back against the back of the chair and closes his eyes when Colin moves closer again and unzips his pants. The movement is torturously slow, so the man focuses on breathing and simply waiting. He expects to feel the cold against his skin, expects a hand, a squeeze, anything.

But nothing comes. So, a couple of seconds later, he opens his eyes again. The Colin staring back at him is now also visibly nervous, looking up at him with a slight frown.

"Promise me that if you don't like it, you'll tell me," Colin blurts out, still staring at him with that intensity that always frightened Michael a little. A siren, that's Colin, Michael thinks. Except instead of attracting and seducing him with his song, he does it with his eyes, because all it takes is a quick glance to have him at his feet. Or maybe he's like Medusa, because just making eye contact turns him to stone, rendering him useless, capable only of thinking about him. Or a mixture of both—it doesn't matter, this isn't the time for this. Michael forces himself out of his mind for a second and laughs, this time for real.

"There's no way I won't like something that's coming from you, but sure, I promise," he feels strangely calm now, and tries to convey it with a gesture, since words have clearly never been his thing. He runs a hand through Colin's hair, who at first looks surprised but then relaxes at the touch, almost like a kitten.

"Okay, well, let's do this" Colin also seems more relaxed, and gently pats his—quite red, by the way—cheeks as if motivating himself.

When Colin starts, he's aware that his performance isn't incredible. Well, it's probably terrible, actually, but it doesn't matter much. He does his best to get used to the sensation, and although it feels uncomfortable and even bad at first, all it takes is for Michael to make a tiny noise of pleasure and look at him with more passion and heat than ever for Colin to decide that he's obviously going to do this as many times as it takes to become the best. That he's going to learn every single movement or thing his boyfriend likes.

Michael's words go straight to his own abdomen and he's surprised at how much he enjoys being praised during these kinds of things. Although he may simply enjoy listening to Michael try to speak in this state, his voice deep and choked. He maintains eye contact as much as he can, even though his eyes are slowly filling with tears from the effort.

Michael seems to notice this, because he raises a hand and wipes his cheeks with a gentleness and care that contrasts sharply with the restraint he's exhibiting—because the man is sweating like crazy, gripping the sofa with his other hand so tightly that his knuckles are white, and trying to suppress the movements his hips instinctively want to make—and although Colin constantly believes it's impossible, with each passing day, with each new experience they have together, he falls more and more in love.

"I love you, God, love you-" Michael gasps, and Colin almost chokes, literally and figuratively, causing them both to laugh with a force that could easily break the heated atmosphere of the moment. But it doesn't. For a second, their thoughts coordinate, though obviously neither of them is aware of this.

'Thank goodness it's him.'

From that moment on, what's left of the act itself doesn't last long. It's partly (mostly, bah) Michael's fault, because it's been too long since he's been this in love with someone, this physically attracted to them, and above all, this touched by them. He finds it comes naturally to him to be vocal with Colin, something he's never felt with his previous partners, but he can't help it when his boyfriend reacts to every word of appreciation in such a tender way, when he can feel the warmth of the man's mouth around him. It takes him embarrassingly little time to reach his limit, though he doesn't feel bad about it. He couldn't possibly feel bad when he's as agitated as if he's just run a marathon, one hand flung over his eyes and the other still entwined in Colin's blond locks.

"Now it's my turn, come on. You know I'll feel bad if i do-" Michael tries, trying to get up from the couch. Colin's hands on his knees tense and slow him down slightly, so he looks down.

"Stop it, fucking beast, just a sec" Colin says, wiping his mouth, and Michael can't help but laugh again. Neither can Colin.