Between the worlds - THE GAME (Supernatural)

What's your secret, Misha?

"Misha?"

In the early evening, Samantha knocked on the door of his trailer but received no answer

"Mish? Are you there?"

Stupid question. Of course, he was there. The blinds were tight, but there was light in his trailer –– either from the laptop or TV.

Come on; it's frigging cold. What're you doing?

Gabriel still had to work, and bored, she'd decided to visit one of her best friends without further ado, but it was locked when Samantha pushed the doorknob. Her forehead wrinkled when a loud rumble from inside was heard. Worried, she knocked renewed and asked a little louder if everything was okay.

"Um ... I ... wait. Fuck! A tiny moment. I'll be right with you." A nervous shout could be heard.

That's just what I needed ...

Misha frantically eliminated the last traces, ran his fingers through his hair again, closed the laptop, and hurried to the door to let in his half-frozen friend, who looked at him with narrowed eyes from the side.

"Hey," the dark-haired man said, rubbing his neck in embarrassment. "Whatcha doing here?"

"Hm ... I'm glad to see you too. Gabe is busy, and that will take even longer. The question is, what did you do? "

"Nothing," he answered, blushing and letting his eyes wander nervously.

"Yes, exactly," she murmured, pointing to his shirt with a grin buttoned wrong. He looked down and fumbled with it.

"Are you hiding something, Mr. Collins?" Samantha asked, raising her eyebrows and curiously checking the trailer.

"No," he replied wide-eyed, but Sam knew she'd disturbed him at something. Only, at what? Of course, she was curious.

"Tell me ... if I didn't know better, I'd say you just had sex."

"How do you get that idea!?" He asked, startled, clearing his throat.

"Come on," she cooly replied while looking her friend up and down.

His pupils were dilated, the hair disheveled, and apart from his wrong-buttoned shirt, Misha's cheeks were damned red despite the twilight.

"I-I ..." he stammered and looked embarrassed on the floor.

It was almost impossible to hide anything from Samantha. Her penetrating eyes pierced deep inside him.

"We've known each other long enough. Talk to me," she challenged, but a head shake followed.

"I can't."

"Can't you or don't you want?"

"B-both," he answered after a moment's hesitation, but it sounded like a question.

"Let's sit down. You've been acting weird for days. Something is still bothering you."

The young woman dropped onto the couch with a grin.

"I ain't weird," he replied defiantly, taking a deep breath.

"You know how I mean that," she replied softly, grabbing his hand and pulling him to her on the couch.

"I can't talk to you about it," he sighed, fiddling with his shirt again because the buttons seemed to be particularly interesting at the moment.

Misha would've liked to talk to someone about it, and Samantha was a person who'd grown dear to his heart, but that was far too embarrassing. But he also knew he was trapped, and his friend would stick to her guns until she knew it, which means that he either came out with it or quickly had to come up with something different and believable.