#cascountingfreckles

You're so pretty, rock on :)

So, it was Sunday. Laundry Day, as that was all he’d be getting done that day. Castiel’s clothes were sorted into whites, blues, and varying shades of black. It was at this point that he was wondering if he should buy some different colored clothes.

He grabbed a pile of black shirts and jeans and carried them downstairs to the washer and dryer he shared with the rest of the building. To Castiel’s great annoyance, he found that the room was occupied. But upon seeing who it was, he thought maybe he could use a little company after all.

Dean Winchester, whose full name Castiel only knew because he’d read it on the mailbox above his, was loading his own pile of dark colored clothes into the dryer. He seemed to sense Cas’s eyes on him and straightened up to turn around.

“Hey there, Cas,” said Dean, entirely too cheerfully in Cas’s opinion. He hadn’t had his cup of coffee yet, so couldn’t return the greeting in quite the same way.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas mumbled as he filled up the washing machine.

“Not a morning person, huh?”

Cas merely stared at Dean until Dean’s cocky grin became a laugh. “See you in an hour, man. Maybe get some caffeine in ya,” he suggested. He took his empty laundry basket with him upstairs and Cas tried, and failed, to keep his eyes from slipping down Dean’s back as he watched him go.

On Wednesday, Cas noticed a shirt that wasn’t his in his stack of neatly folded newly clean clothes. It was well-worn and a bit faded, but the Led Zeppelin logo was still clearly legible. It didn’t take him more than a second to realize the shirt must belong to Dean.

Dean had lived in the apartment above his for about a year now. They weren’t more than acquaintances and said little more than ‘hello’ when they happened to meet, although that was at least a word more than Cas usually said to his other neighbors. He had taken a bit of a liking to Dean, or what he’d come to know of him. Dean was unerringly friendly in the elevator, at the mailbox, in the lobby. He had a brother Cas had seen on several occasions, and although taller, Cas thought he must be younger. He wore flannel and band shirts and jeans, and once, memorably, Castiel had seen him covered in grease and wearing coveralls. Dean had a car, and if you’d had one conversation with him, you’d know it was a 1967 Chevy Impala. So, Cas figured he must be a mechanic. Cas had spent some time thinking about this. Dean under a hood, or stretched out underneath his black behemoth of a vehicle, listening to AC/DC or possibly, Zeppelin. Dean was a year or two younger than Cas, probably 24 or 25. And that was all he know. Well, all that and Dean owned a Led Zeppelin World Tour shirt. Which he should give back. And he totally would.

On Thursday, Castiel checked his mail after running some errands. Bills, bills, and a couple of catalogs he had certainly not subscribed to. He threw those in the trash and stowed the bills in his messenger bag, even though he paid everything online, (why did they still send paper bills?) and promptly walked right into someone. Dean turned around and had his mouth open to speak before he noticed Castiel.

“Hey! I didn’t even realize I’d lost that,” said Dean, gesturing at Cas’s chest.

“Oh.” Cas blushed. Of course he kept the shirt, it was soft, and maybe he liked Led Zeppelin. Well, he liked ‘Stairway to Heaven.’ That was them, right? “I should give this back.”

“No, it’s okay, I like seeing you in my shirt.” Now it was Dean’s turn to blush and Cas couldn’t believe this was life. “I mean, it looks good on you, or maybe I’ll start over and say something less creepy and you can forget this happened? I’ll just – ” Dean backed up toward the elevators, but Cas caught his arm.

“Dean, wait,” he said. “Um, maybe I can return the shirt to you in your apartment? Or something less forward?” Dean relaxed immediately and Cas smiled, though both of their cheeks were still a little pink. He couldn’t help noticing how nicely Dean’s blush set off his freckles.

“How ‘bout dinner first?” Dean suggested. He had a good smile, Cas decided. Well, he’d known that already. His eyes were nice too. He’d also noticed that, but Cas didn’t think he’d ever been this close to him before. He almost forgot Dean had said anything.

“Dinner sounds perfect,” he agreed. “Shirts on or off?” Cas asked, as mock seriously as he could manage.