so, this is the first time I've ever done an actual chaptered fic, and I'm not quite sure how many chapters it'll be just yet. I know how I want it all to go, I just have to get it all outlined. I promise, this will be finished. rating will change in later chapters. starts around early 2015.

disclaimer: i own nothing, only the words written within. title from the used's find a way.

It's not very often a live wrestling event rolls through any part of Iowa, even non-televised, non-major events, and Seth is a little more than pissed that he's missing it. It's not like he couldn't afford it, or that he didn't know about it, no, it's that he's stuck at work, paper piled high on his desk because he was an idiot and scheduled a fucking test for today of all days.

He's been staring at the same page for what feels like hours, and there's a headache forming at his temples, making his mood even worse. It's late, and it's only getting later, but the tests need to be graded, midterm grade reports due in two days, and of course Seth fucked up when he was doing his lesson plan for the month, left almost no time at all for him to give his in-class lessons, grade homework and tests, and submit grades without wanting to cry.

He blows out a frustrated breath, tosses his glasses carelessly down onto the pile of paperwork, massaging the tips of his fingers against his temples.

Being a teacher wasn't what Seth had in mind when he graduated high school. He'd lived and breathed wrestling as a child, as a teenager, and had grandiose dreams of being a professional wrestler, of being out there and wrestling with the best of them, but a botched landing in the ring of the wrestling school he was enrolled at and a knee that never healed right despite all his rehab and therapy meant he had to figure out something else.

He still isn't sure how he ended up being a teacher, and while it's not wrestling, he does enjoy it. Except for moments like this where he's pressed for time, headache pounding behind his eyes, hindering him from doing what he needs to do.

Seth groans, puts his glasses back on, tries to get through the pile of tests again. He gives up only a few minutes later, pulling his briefcase out from under his desk. He shoves all the papers in haphazardly, not caring that half of them get crumpled in his haste.

The clock reads just after 5:00, and Seth groans again. He didn't realize it was already that late. He grabs his phone and his keys from the top drawer of the desk, shoving them into his pockets, briefcase held in a tight grip as he makes his way out of his classroom, down the halls and out to the parking lot, not surprised to see his car is one of the few still there.

It takes him longer than he has patience for to get home, pulling into the driveway of his house. It may not look like much from the outside, exterior starting to chip and peel in places, but it's big and homey, has more space than he knows what to do with, and the best part is that it's his and he loves it, and it helps that he has his small dog to come home to, making it feel less lonely, less empty.

Kevin is already yapping up a storm by the time Seth gets the door unlocked and open, and he sets his briefcase down in favor of picking him up, cuddling him to his chest as he closes and locks the door behind him.

"Hey, Kev," he says, scratches under his chin, laughing softly at the way Kev keeps trying to attack his fingers. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I missed you, too."

He carries him through the entryway, the living room, unlatching the sliding patio door in the kitchen and setting Kevin down, shooing him to go do his business while Seth rummages around, trying to find something to make for dinner.

Kevin comes in, circling Seth's feet, barking for a treat, and Seth hands him one distractedly, piling together a sandwich with his free hand.

"Alright, ya little mongrel," Seth says, looking down at Kevin, "go play. I've got work to do."

Kevin trots off, and Seth follows, picking up his briefcase from where he put it in the entryway.

One of the spare rooms is set up as a home office, and Seth settles in there, pulling the pile of tests out and spreading them across his desk.

It's easier here, at home, to get through the pile of them, and it probably helps having food and drink in his belly, keeping the headache to a barely-there throb, and it's just before 7 when Seth finishes putting the final grade into his computer.

Perfect timing.

Seth grabs another cold bottle of water from the fridge, then settles in the living room, volume turned up and tv ready to go.

He doesn't care that he's almost thirty, that he probably should be more interested in something else; he still gets just as excited about wrestling as he did when he was five, twelve, sixteen, and he loses himself in it for the next three hours, lets the drama unfolding onscreen chase away all thoughts of tests and grades and everything else that isn't who's wrestling who, what titles are up for grabs at the next pay-per-view, and what ridiculous bullshit the Authority is up to this week.

Seth has his favorites, of course he does, and sometimes watching them fills him with envy, sadness, thoughts of how they're the same age, how they're doing the only thing he ever wanted to do while he had to settle for being a teacher, but even through all that, he can't stop watching, won't stop watching, rooted to his seat until it's over, shaking his head at how the Authority seems to think their pick as the champion is actually championship material compared to half the wrestlers they've got on the roster.

He's a coward, is Seth's first thought, hiding behind Stephanie and Triple H, surrounded by security guards who probably couldn't fight their way out of a paper bag, and the only reason the guy is even champion is because Stephanie and Triple H can't keep their noses out of anything.

That's not the kind of champion Seth would have ever wanted to be, wouldn't have wanted to wear that gold around his waist or over his shoulder unless he had actually earned it himself, no interference or distractions to give him the win.

Some people will do whatever it takes to win, he supposes.

Seth shuts off the tv, takes Kevin out one last time, retreating to his bedroom for the night. It's already 10:20, and he has to be up in six hours to get his daily workout in before he goes to work.

He strips down to his boxers, sets his alarm and crawls into his bed, Kevin curling up at his feet. It's been a long, exhausting, stressful day, and he's asleep before he knows it.

The gym is mostly empty when Seth gets there, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, feeling more asleep than awake. It's nothing an intense workout won't fix, though, and he sets to stressing, loosening his joints and muscles with a few stretches before he really gets into it, rotating around from machine to machine, music thumping in his ears.

He's on the treadmill, walking to ease the sting in his knee, and he looks up, nearly falling off when he takes in the fact that he's not alone anymore.

No, someone else has joined him, and Seth is stuck between wanting to act like a complete awestruck fan, and running as fast as he can to get out of there.

He does neither, though, focuses intently on the breath in his lungs, the tightness slowly working its way out of his knee, the controls of the treadmill, and it works, for a minute, anyway, eyes drawn to the figure in the corner, the line of his back and the strength of his shoulders, the way he moves and weaves as he throws punch after punch to the bag hanging from the ceiling.

Seth tries not to stare, tries to keep his eyes focused anywhere else, but he can't, eyes sliding back to the lone figure, and he gives up on the treadmill, turns it off and heads for a different machine, one that isn't facing that direction, but he's pulled up short by a voice calling out to him, and his heart starts pounding in his chest for a reason other than physical exertion.

He pulls an earbud out of his ear, slowly turns around and tries to act cool and nonchalant, though he feels anything but. "What's up, man?"

"You mind spotting me for a minute?" Rougher, even more gravelly than he sounds onscreen or in interviews, Dean Ambrose stands in front of him, sweat covering his skin, hair pushed back off his forehead, eyes bluer than blue.

Seth kind of wants to collapse onto the floor. It's not that - no, okay, he's not even going to lie to himself and say it's not a crush he has on Dean because he it is, he does. Has for years, even way back when he was a hot fucking mess, wrestling under the name Jon Moxley.

Dean's been his favorite for years, and Seth wants to cry at the odds of him being here, in Seth's gym, in Seth's town, hours away from where Raw was last night and from where Smackdown will be filmed tonight.

Seth realizes he's staring, again, and he quickly averts his eyes, coughs, says, "Yeah, sure," even though he probably won't be able to finish his own workout now, not if he wants to go home and shower before he goes into work - which he'd really, really love to; no one wants to be taught by a teacher that smells like rank ass body odor all day.

Dean smiles at him, nodding his head in thanks, and motions for Seth to follow him over to the weight bench.

Seth's mouth goes a little dry at the flex of muscle in Dean's arms as they slide the weights onto the bar, and he really doesn't know how he's going to make it through standing over Dean's body while he lifts, not without popping an awkward fucking boner Dean will be staring right up at.

"Thanks for this, man," Dean says, laying back on the bench, hands wrapped around the bar.

"Not a problem," Seth says, gives Dean a smile as he places his hands under the bar, there just in case Dean needs his help.

Dean does a couple sets of reps and Seth tries not to stare, makes himself look anywhere else but at Dean, at the muscles in his arms, the sweat sliding across his skin, the strip of flesh on his belly where his shirt has ridden up, the cut of his hips peeking out over the top of his shorts, and he couldn't be more relieved when Dean finishes his final rep and sets the bar back, all his blood rushing south at the sight before him.

Dean wipes his hands on his shorts, holds one out and says, "Name's Dean."

Seth has to bite back the I know that's on the tip of his tongue. He offers his own hand, Dean's warm and strong and damp against his, says, "I'm Seth," and tries not to groan when Dean pulls away.

"Good to meet you, man," Dean says, and Seth has to be dreaming, must've fallen and hit his head because he's pretty goddamn sure Dean's eyes just slowly scanned up and down his body, almost like he was checking him out.

Which is—that's ridiculous, right? Seth's not an idiot, knows he looks good, works damn hard for his body, but there's no reason Dean fucking Ambrose of all people would be checking him out, especially not now, not when he looks a mess, sweaty and smelly and disheveled.

You're doing the same thing to him, though, aren't you?

But Seth's gay, and Dean's not.

Is he?

Seth knows being out and proud just isn't something that's done in the wrestling world, was told as much when he was still in wrestling school, before his injury, that he could be whatever he wanted to be, but that he shouldn't get his hopes up about making it in the big leagues if he was going to be flaunting his sexuality in front of everyone's faces.

Which, whatever, still pisses him off to this day. How is having a relationship flaunting anything in anyone's face? If they can't handle the fact that he's gay, that's their goddamn problem, not his. He's not going to pretend to be something he's not just to make others feel better.

"Yeah, man, good to meet you, too," Seth says. He glances down at his phone, grimacing when he sees the time.

"Everything alright?" Dean asks, and Seth's eyes slowly flicker up to Dean's, sees how his brows are pulled down in some emotion Seth doesn't even want to try to guess.

"Yeah," Seth says, rubs at the back of his neck. "Just didn't realize the time. Gotta get home and shower, get ready for work."

"Oh." Dean's tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and Seth's mesmerized by the sight. "Well, thanks for your help. Sorry to keep you from your own workout."

Seth waves it off, says, "No big deal. Anything to help a guy out, right?"

Dean's eyes seem to light up at that, like Seth's said some magic word. "Can I have your number?" he asks, and there's no hesitance in his voice, no doubt that he's going to get turned down.

Seth is confused, hopes it doesn't show on his face. What possible reason could Dean have for asking for his number? It's not like he's going to be in town much longer, or like he's even in town all that often. Still, Seth finds himself nodding his head, rattling off his number when Dean pulls his phone out, his own vibrating in the armband he's wearing, a missed call from Dean to give him his number, too.

"I'll call you later or something," Dean says, corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile.

"Sounds good," Seth says, a little bewildered. He stands there for a second, two, lets his eyes float up and down Dean's body one more time before he turns and heads for the exit, feeling like this is all some kind of dream.

It's all he can think about all day, and it feels like his phone is burning a hole through his pocket. He hadn't even thought of putting in his desk like he normally does, has it tucked right in his front pocket, and he can't keep himself from pulling it out every few minutes when he can, just to make sure there isn't a missed call or text.

Halfway through the day, he's convinced himself it was all a dream, that he really didn't meet Dean during his morning workout, that he must've had one hell of a hallucination brought on by the pain in his knee while he was working out, until he unlocks his phone and takes in the number sitting atop his missed calls list.

It's there, Dean Ambrose, 5:46 AM, minutes after Seth remembers checking his watch, realizing he was going to be late for work if he didn't get his ass moving.

Still, there's no word from Dean, and Seth stifles a sigh, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

Seth gets through his day, barely, feeling worn thin by the time he gets home. His phone has still been noticeably silent, and he tries not to let it bother him.

He's not sure what he really expected, anyway.

Dean is a busy person, probably barely has time to breathe let alone have any kind of phone conversation, and Seth's an idiot for expecting anything.

Or maybe Dean took the time to think about it and realized pursuing anything with Seth wasn't a good idea. He's primed for a top position in the company, and his focus should be on that, not on any kind of fling or whatever with Seth, and while it felt good to have Dean's eyes on him in a way that felt less friendly and more intimate, Seth knows Dean's career will come before anything else.

It's a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach and Seth chastises himself for it. He spent what, all of ten minutes with Dean? It doesn't mean anything that they exchanged numbers. Hell, if Dean wanted to, Seth's sure he could make a call and get his number changed in the blink of an eye. He doesn't owe Seth anything.

Seth's jerked out of his pity party by Kevin whining at his feet, and Seth scoops him up, settling him on his belly. "What's your problem, little guy?"

He runs his fingers through Kevin's fur, appreciating the comfort and companionship he brings.

It's not like Seth doesn't have any friends that he could spend his time with, but they're either teachers like him—and the last thing Seth wants to do after spending a day teaching is talk about teaching—or people he's known for years and years who all have their own things going on, namely wrestling the independent circuits where they can or running a wrestling school, things Seth can't do or wants no part of.

He spends his night curled up on the sofa with Kevin cuddled up against his chest, flipping through the channels until he gets bored of that, switching to a game of Madden that he loses himself in until it's a late enough hour he can rationalize going to sleep.

Seth's knee is giving him all kinds of pain and discomfort when he wakes up the next morning for his workout, and he ends up skipping out, lying in bed until he has to get up and shower.

He limps into the bathroom, grimacing every time he puts weight on his leg, but he powers through his shower, standing on one leg in front of the bathroom sink with a towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping down his back while he brushes his teeth.

He makes it back into his bedroom with plenty of time to spare, digging out the knee brace he keeps in his bottom dresser drawer, slipping it on and letting out a sigh of relief as the pain slowly dulls. He finishes getting dressed then, a tight pair of dress pants and a black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a gray tie looped around his neck. His hair gets pulled into a low bun at the nape of his neck, and he puts on a pair of black socks before slipping his feet into a pair of dress shoes.

Seth grabs his phone from the nightstand, surprised to find he has a slew of unread messages. Excitement bubbles up, but he slides his phone into his pocket, letting Kevin out quick while he rushes around the kitchen to grab something to eat before he takes off for work, eating his breakfast burrito one-handed while he navigates the morning traffic.

The parking lot is slowly starting to fill up by the time Seth pulls into the teachers' lot, and he takes a minute after he parks and turns off the car to unlock his phone and read his messages.

[06:17] hey its dean
[06:17] from the gym?
[06:26] shit ur prob getting ready for work
[06:43] or ur just ignoring me?
[06:57] sry I didn't message yesterday. got caught up with work.

And another comes in while he's reading through the other ones.

[07:00] I guess just message me back if u want. otherwise no harm done

Seth smiles down at his phone.

{07:01} hey, don't worry about it. I know how that can be.

Seth locks his phone and pockets it, grabbing his keys and briefcase before he exits his car, locking the doors behind him. He can feel his phone buzzing in his pocket as he makes his way inside, navigating the halls to his classroom, and he ignores it until he has everything situated on his desk, briefcase stowed underneath.

[07:03] oh good. thought u were ignoring me

Seth raises an eyebrow.

{07:14} why would I do that?

[07:16] idk

Real verbose, this one.

[07:17] what r u doing tonight?

Seth nearly drops his phone, reading and rereading the last message. Is Dean…? But he's not even in Iowa anymore, is he? It's one of his days off; shouldn't he be at home?

{07:19} umm
{07:19} nothing that I know of, why?

He holds his breath and waits, feeling like a teenager with their first crush, waiting for a text back.

[07:21] was thinking I could take u out

Seth bites back the noises threatening to escape, reminding himself he's 28 years old and a respected teacher, not a 15-year-old boy about to feel up his first girlfriend at a weekend party.

{07:25} id like that

Cool, nonchalant, even though he's freaking out on the inside. Better not to let Dean know just yet how fucking eager he is for this.

[07:27] cool. Where should I pick u up?

Seth types out his address, double and triple checks it before he hits send, butterflies taking up residence in his stomach.

[07:30] I can't wait

At Dean's admission, Seth doesn't feel as alone in his excitement, sends back that he can't wait, either.

His classroom slowly starts filling up, and as much as he doesn't want to, Seth tells Dean as much, that duty calls and he's got some brilliant young minds to mold.

[07:40] don't think id be doing much learning if u were my teacher

Seth feels his face heat an embarrassing shade of red, and he can't even muster a response, silencing his phone and shoving it into his desk.

He'll reply later, after he's had enough time to cool down and think rationally and inot/i take it somewhere sexual, because that's the only place his brain is at right now, and as great as that is, images of him and Dean and teacher-student roleplay dancing through his head, that's not what he needs right now, not with a room full of teenage students.

It is a pleasant thought, though, and if he keeps going back to it throughout the morning, well, that's no one's business but his own.