Sometimes Roman stays over if they’re out late the night before, but this isn’t Roman. This is a stranger. It’s… a first, for Seth. Strangers on his couch.

“What?” he asks the air, checking the time, because – it might be a little fucked up that his first thought is that he might be late for work now. Probably, he should be more concerned with how this stranger even got in, considering Seth definitely locked his door last night.

The stranger doesn’t answer his question. He snuffles a little, and snorts, then shuffles over onto his side.

He’s kind of plain. Tall (his feet are dangling off the edge of the couch), using a jacket as a makeshift blanket over his torso. His hair’s all over his forehead in curly tufts and his face in sleep is set in a sort of frown.

None of that matters, but Seth likes paying attention to details. And if he needs a description to give the cops later, that’ll come in handy.

He clears his throat, then says, “Hey,” a little louder. This time, the guy jerks, nearly rolling off the couch with the momentum of the way he wakes up. He blinks wildly, holding a hand up half-curled into a fist, and Seth takes half a step back even though he’s still in the doorway, nowhere near the couch.

The guy blinks at him a little more calmly after a moment, his fist dropping. “Well, hell,” he says in a voice that’s more like a growl than anything else. It’s the kind of voice Seth probably would’ve written shitty poetry about when he was a teenager, low with a rumble like a storm that’s still about ten minutes away.

“Who are you?” Seth asks, shifting on his feet. Maybe he should have started out with another of the myriad of questions he has for this man, but he feels weird just calling him ‘stranger,’ even in his head.

“Dean,” the guy answers readily enough, rubbing a hand over his hair and taking a look around the room. “Hell,” he says again. “This ain’t my place, is it?”

“No,” Seth says, his shoulders relaxing a little with the news that this may just be a misunderstanding. “Uh, it’s mine. Obviously.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Dean, apparently, swipes his wrist across his mouth. His jacket is pooled in his lap now, and he’s wearing a t-shirt underneath it, black and thin. He has really broad shoulders. Seth’s not sure why he’s paying attention to them. “This is kind of embarrassing.”

You couldn’t tell it by looking at him. He doesn’t look embarrassed at all, no color in his face or anything, eyes lazily returning to look at Seth as he yawns and stretches. Does this happen to him often enough that it’s normal? Because it is in no way normal for Seth, and now he’s definitely going to be late for work. At least, later than he usually is, which is still earlier than Randy gets there, so maybe it doesn’t matter so much.

“How did you even – how did you get into my apartment?” Seth asks, finally feeling like this guy is probably only a mild annoyance instead of an actual threat and crossing the room to put his briefcase on the table. “I locked the door.”

“Huh. Good question.” Dean looks mildly surprised, twisting to sit with his feet on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. “I, y’know, well. Don’t remember much about last night, don’t know how much help I’ll be in figuring that out.”

Seth could’ve guessed that, considering he somehow ended up in another person’s apartment and didn’t notice it wasn’t his own. “Do you even live in this building?” he asks.

Dean hums. “You’re full of good questions. I dunno, I just moved in like two weeks ago. The, uh, corner of Church and Highland. There’s a tree out front that looks like a crooked dick.”

Seth’s mouth twists. “Interesting way of remembering where you live,” he notes.

Dean grins at him, and it’s… far more endearing than Seth would like. “Yeah, but you knew which tree I was talking about,” he says. “I can see it on your face.”

Well. Is it Seth’s fault that the resemblance is uncanny? Honestly, he has no idea how someone hasn’t, like, done some cosmetic adjustments to that tree.

“I know the tree you’re talking about,” he says tactfully. “So I guess you at least got the right building. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” Dean braces his hands on his knees and stands, stretching. His fingertips almost touch Seth’s ceiling. “What number are you?”

“Fourteen,” Seth says, leaning back against the edge of the table.

“Aw, I was only a floor off,” Dean replies, twisting a little from side to side. That couch isn’t comfortable to sleep on, Seth knows. Guy’s at least as tall as Roman, and Roman complains every time he has to sleep on it. “I’m twenty-six. Maybe I missed a floor on the elevator. Wouldn’t explain how I got in even though the door was locked. I love a mystery.”

He says it deadpan, but that might just be – he has a weird way of talking. It goes up and down kind of like a tune except when he says things that Seth assumes are supposed to be jokes. Then it levels out and he sounds almost monotone. And now Seth’s analyzing the cadences of a stranger’s voice. He needs coffee. And to get to work.

“I love having a secure home,” Seth says, and his isn’t a joke, not really, but Dean laughs anyway, and Seth finds that he’s not actually that upset about it.

“Guess I should probably get back to where I actually live,” Dean comments, his jacket draped over one arm. His hair’s still a mess, probably not helped by the way he keeps shoving it back impatiently only for it to fall over his forehead again. “Hey, thanks for letting me stay over, we should do it again sometime.”

Seth blinks at him, trying to figure out if that can even be said in a way that’s not leading, or, or implying something. “Are you – hitting on me?” he asks, because there’s only so much tact he’s got stored in the bank and he had to start spending early today.

Dean frowns thoughtfully, his mouth quirking a little. “Huh. Sure sounded like it, didn’t it?” he asks, as though he wasn’t the one who said it, like Seth would have a better idea than he would about whether or not something he said was a come-on. Seth’s starting to think this is all a figment of his imagination.

“What,” Seth says, unsure of whether or not it’s a question. Unsure of a lot of things. Dean Whoever is giving him an existential crisis.

“I guess I must’ve been.” Dean’s mouth moves just a little more, enough of an uptick that Seth’s almost positive he’s being made fun of, and he’d be annoyed by that but he’s mostly just bewildered by everything that has happened to him post-shower this morning. “Anyway. I’ll get out of your hair. I’m sure you’ve got places to be, people to see. You look, like, important.”

Seth doesn’t even know what that means, but he says, “Thanks,” anyway, and Dean’s mouth turns up even more. He shrugs his jacket on and straightens the lapels. It hangs on him lightly.

“You know where I live,” Dean comments, patting his pockets. It seems like a non sequitur, but Dean seems to speak entirely in non sequiturs and Seth’s getting used to it. “Twenty-six. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Um,” Seth says. Dean tosses off this little wave and a – wink, an actual wink, before he leaves through Seth’s door. Which he has to unlock from the inside before he can leave. How the fuck did he get into Seth’s apartment if the door is still locked even now?

Seth shakes his head, sighing and heading into the kitchen. If he’s already late, he might as well use the ridiculously expensive coffeemaker in his kitchen instead of grabbing it from somewhere else. Here, they won’t try to force cow’s milk on him even when he asks for soy.