#theblueboxnetwork

That’s what he’d told himself for the first two weeks. But now, Sam wasn’t there and the coffee shop was empty save for the barista behind the counter.

Castiel. He had eternally and hopelessly messy dark hair, the bluest eyes Dean was sure he would ever encounter ever, lush lips and a sweet, shy smile. His voice was deep and gravelly and he blushed when he saw Dean looking at him and--

And Dean, well, might have a thing for Cas.

But, just like his secret love for girlie coffees that barely had any coffee in them, Dean would never admit it out loud, ever.

Cas smiled when he saw it was Dean leaning against the counter and Dean forced himself not to make a high pitched giggle like a teenage girl because Christ, Dean, you are twenty-one years old, get yourself together.

“Heya Cas,” he said instead, because he’s cool.

“Your usual?” Cas asked. His usual being a tall Americano, two sugars. Dean took a deep breath. This was it. The moment of truth.

“Actually, I thought I would try the--” He coughed. Come on, Dean, just spit it out. “White chocolate raspberry mocha.”

“Are you picking stuff up for Sam?” Castiel asked. He didn’t look confused or concerned or judging, just conversational.

“Yes!” Dean exclaimed, taking the way out before he paused and sighed, breaking eye contact with Cas to look down at the counter. “No. Just thought I would try something different, is all.”

“Okay. Is that everything?”

Dean looked up at the way Cas wasn’t smirking, wasn’t laughing, as if a guy ordering a teenage girl’s drink was normal.

Dean paused. Maybe it was.

So he figured he might as well throw in a cake pop. Since he was evidently a teenage girl. But he wasn’t getting the strawberry one, thank you very much. That would be one step too far.

Dean started fishing out dollars and change, calculating the amount in his head when Cas said, “It’s… on the house,” looking downward with a blush.

Dean knew it would be polite to refuse, but he was not one to refuse free coffee. Or free anything really.

“Thanks,” he said with a smile. Then, fuck it, he threw in a wink.

He sat down on one of the comfy chairs and looked down at the coffee. He inhaled deeply and it was downright orgasmic, okay, like really freaking good and he hadn’t even tried it yet.

When he did try it, he wanted to get up and hug Cas and thank him for his services to humanity because he had no idea how he’d survived his life without this drink.

Instead, because he was feeling brave, he sent Sam a text..

Dean: i just got a white chocolate raspberry mocha.

He held his breath. Oh God, Sam would make fun of him, Sam would think he was a freaking girl, he would never be able to live this down and--

Sam: what am i supposed to say to this?

Dean: You dont care?

Sam: am i supposed to? um... congrats?

Dean looked up and away from his phone and decided right then and there that he was an idiot.

Dean: but

Sam: but?

Sam: is this because of your stupid idea that the type of coffee you drink affects your masculinity in some way? because honestly, dean, that is so dumb and you need to get over yourself.

Dean: you know about that?

Sam: it’s not like you hide it

Sam: speaking of, you should probably ask out the barista while youre there

Dean: you--what?

Sam: ;)

Dean: bitch.

Sam: jerk.

Okay. Okay, so that was a new development. But it was also the only thing Dean needed to make him think something along the lines of fuck this shit.

He took another sip of his drink for a shot of courage in the form of raspberry and chocolate and actual whip cream instead of foam and decided that he was here, and no one else was in the store, and, as mentioned earlier, he was an idiot. Then he was standing up before he could think of everything that could go wrong and grabbing a napkin and a pen and scrawling out seven numbers, walking over to the counter and slamming it down more aggressively than probably necessary.