Chapter Text
Jack woke to the sound of something crashing to the floor.
A sharp thud, followed by a very clear, "God dammit" snapped him out of sleep faster than any alarm clock could.
He blinked against the unfamiliar ceiling, a second too long for comfort, and realization hit like a punch to the gut.
This wasn't his room.
He was tangled in a too-soft sheet, the air smelled like expensive cologne, and, yeah, this was definitely the bed of the guy he'd slept with last night.
He sat up too quickly, heart racing. His gaze landed on the man across the room–tall, broad-shouldered, annoyingly attractive in a half-buttoned dress shirt, chest still flushed with sleep, and slacks–currently hopping on one foot while muttering curses under his breath.
"Sorry." he said breathlessly. "Didn't mean to wake you like that."
Jack's brain stalled. For a half-second he almost forgot about the clock. Then his eyes landed on the nightstand.
7:40 AM. Shit.
"I'm late for work." The man winced, glancing at Jack as he tried to tuck in his shirt one-handed. "And, um, just so you know, I usually don't throw my hookups out like this. I swear I'm not a total ass."
The man’s apology was sweet but Jack didn't have the time to care. He was already halfway off the bed, wrestling with his jeans like they were fighting back. "No offense," he muttered, dragging his shirt over his head, "but I've got class in twenty minutes and no time for this conversation."
"Fair enough." the man replied, lips twitching in a smirk Jack didn't have the patience or luxury to glare at.
Jack shoved his foot into a sneaker and hopped toward the door with one arm still stuck in his shirt sleeve.
"Do you want me to call you a cab or-"
"No." Jack muttered, yanking the front door open and bolting into the hallway, hair a mess, shirt wrinkled, and the taste of last night's alcohol still in his mouth. Under different circumstances he'd feel bad for dashing like that but he had no time to think about it as he pulled out his phone to check on Google maps how far the campus was.
Eventually he made it to campus in record time, sweaty, panting, and looking like the literal definition of walk of shame. His friends spotted him the moment he stumbled into the lecture hall and burst out laughing.
"Dude," Shen said, handing him his half-finished coffee "you look like you fought a bar and lost."
Jack took the coffee without a word. His head was pounding. His shirt still smelled faintly of someone else's cologne and sweat. And all he could do was thank whoever was watching over him, God, the universe, sheer dumb luck, Jack didn't care who to credit. The important part was that Professor Robinavitch hadn't arrived yet.
Because if there was one class he couldn't afford to mess up, it was this one. Medical ethics. The class everyone had hyped to the moon.
They'd all heard about Professor Robinavitch. Rumors of how brilliant he was, how he'd been offered a position at multiple med schools but chose theirs for whatever reason. A legend, basically, according to his students. Jack had made a mental note weeks ago to not screw this up.
And now here he was, caffeine-deprived and sleep-deprived. Backpack-less, and trying not to look like he'd just crawled out of someone else's bed, which he absolutely had.
At least he'd showed up. That had to count for something.
He collapsed into his seat and took a deep breath. Maybe he could pull this off. He just needed to get through the first day of introductions and then he could sleep and shower off the previous night.
And then the door opened.
The classroom chatter faded. Jack was mid-sip of John's pity-coffee when he looked up and nearly choked.
His throat caught around cold liquid because walking into the room, composed, confident, completely put together, was him.
The guy from last night.
Same dark hair. Same broad shoulders. Same maddeningly perfectly kept beard. Except now, he wore a full suit, tie impeccably knotted, and not a trace of the chaos Jack had witnessed earlier that morning. Like he hadn't just sprinted through his apartment twenty-five minutes ago. Like he hadn't been at a club last night. Like he hadn't had Jack in his bed, gasping his name into a pillow just a few hours earlier.
His throat worked hard around the liquid, barely swallowing without choking, eyes locked on the man now confidently launching in a well rehearsed introduction.
Jack barely heard a word of it. He could only sit there, frozen, as his reality collapsed in on itself.
The man truly looked impeccable. Calm voice, hair styled like it hadn't been tugged on six hours ago. If Jack hadn't been there, he wouldn't have believed it.
He sank lower into his chair, wishing for invisibility. He glanced toward the door, briefly considered running, but his legs wouldn't move. Unless he wanted to make an even bigger scene, he was stuck. There was no escape. And worse. His eyes caught on a small limp as the man crossed the room. Just a barely-there hitch in his gait.
Jack winced, half in sympathy, half in horror at the realization he had the knowledge of how'd that happened.
"You can call me Dr. Robinavitch, or Professor. Please don't call me Mike."
Jack blinked. His brain catching up with the man's words. Michael Robinavitch. Michael. Jack was almost sure the man had used a different name last night. Rob? Rick? Something with an R. To be fair he hadn't been paying that much attention at the club. They'd both been buzzed and laughing and Jack had been halfway through a sentence about god-knows-what when the man had kissed him into silence. Jack couldn't even remember if he'd given his real name either.
Twenty minutes in, Jack felt like he was going to puke his own heart out, but the thought that he could survive slowly settled at the back of his mind the longer Michael kept his attention focused somewhere else. He could probably teach himself this class. Never attend another class. Easy. No one had to know. He could drop in for exams, maybe make friends with someone who took good notes. Maybe request a section change. Or drop it entirely. Whatever it took.
Jack tracked Michael's movements as he paused to fiddle with the projector. Too absorbed in the man to realize the coffee he was sipping on was almost done until the too loud sound of him slurping echoed in the otherwise silent room.
Michael, Professor Robinavitch, looked up. His eyes scanned the room and landed directly on Jack.
Jack watched every trace of color drain from the man's face. His hand hesitated on the mouse. Eyes wide, lips parting slightly in unmistakable recognition. Then, like a switch flipping back on, he cleared his throat, looked away, and launched back into his lecture like nothing had happened.
Only this time, he didn't glance toward Jack's side of the room.
Not once.
Jack didn't move a muscle. Just sat there. Stomach sinking, heart pounding, still and stunned, staring at the back of the man who had no idea he'd be seeing his one night stand in his med school class the next day.
This was fine.
Totally fine.
Absolutely, irreversibly, burn-your-life-down fine.