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They're sitting on the floor of Cas' new apartment. It's his first time moving out at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Dean's been living on his own for a few months now, so he figured he'd come over and help Cas out, move some furniture, that sort of thing.

Instead, well, they're proving how utterly hopeless they both are. Cas doesn't have a couch, but Dean brought over a case of beer, so it seemed like the best way to handle the couch situation was to get gloriously intoxicated. Never mind an IKEA trip now ― Dean's over the limit and Cas still hasn't got his licence.

What a pair they make. Sitting on the tiled floor, drinking cheap beer, their bodies covered in tattoos and piercings, their jeans ripped around the knees and ankles. Dean's hair, in contrast to Cas', is a perfectly styled mohawk, although the ends are starting to droop since the air is so humid. He had to run through the rain to get to Cas' apartment block, and he's pretty sure the fresh blue dye still stuck to his scalp is leaking down the back of his neck.

They look the exact picture of Deadbeat, a term thrown around a lot by their teachers and parents. They're both working though, with Dean at Singer Garage, and Cas at a tattoo parlor that only opened a month ago. They're earning money, living on their own ― it's better than either of their parents were expecting, so that's something.

Except, you know, Cas doesn't have a couch, or a fridge, or a washing machine. He has a microwave and a toaster, at least. The "essentials".

Meanwhile Dean, who's been spacing out for the past couple of minutes, enjoying the buzz of alcohol in his veins, suddenly comes back to himself at the sound of rain against the window. The sky is dark and grey and the wind is growing stronger, the rain coming down harsher.

"Ugh," he says with disgust.

"The roof leaked the last time it rained," Cas says, squinting out the window. "I had a giant puddle in the kitchen. I better get a bucket ready."

Cas gets to his feet, only wobbling a little bit. The guy's a total lightweight. He drags himself to the kitchen, Dean slyly staring at his ass as he walks away. Hey, he's only human. A well-sculpted ass is a gift to this world, even if it's attached to his best friend.

Dean sags against the wall, sighing up at the ceiling. He's got work tomorrow, and it's not late yet but he doesn't think the rain's going to abate anytime soon.

In his peripheries, he catches a flash of light outside, and an old fear instinctively latches onto him. He exhales, distracting himself with another sip of his beer.

While in the kitchen, Cas can't be seen from the living room, especially when you're sitting on the floor. Cas putters around in there, making a lot of obnoxious clanging sounds while he hunts for a bucket.

"I think it's gonna storm," Cas calls out. He peaks his head around, peering through the doorway. "Will you be right to get home?"

"What?" Dean coughs, waving a hand. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

Cas gives him a deadpan stare. "Dean, I know you don't like thunderstorms. You're welcome to stay here tonight, if you wish."

"What, on that infested mattress of yours?" Dean says, wrinkling his nose.

It's secondhand; Cas scavenged it from the side of the road. Dean's not willing to go anywhere near it. Cas, on the other hand, thinks it's more comfortable than the expensive one he used to sleep on back home.

Cas sighs, long-suffering. "Would you rather take the non-existent couch?"

"Dude, I'll just go home. It'll be fine."

Just as he says that, however, there's a rather pointed, booming roar of thunder, strong enough to make the windows quake. Dean's entire body freezes, hands clamping tight around his ankles.

"Dean? Are you―?"

"Fine," he snaps, staring resolutely ahead at a patch of mould on the wall. "M'fine."

Cas sighs again, disappears for a moment, and then comes back out. Suddenly he's slipping into Dean's vision, crouching before him. He lays a hand on Dean's knee.

"Dean," he says slowly, "do you want me to take you home?"

"Quit babying me," Dean grunts, shaking him off. "I told you, I'm fine."

"You're shaking," Cas tells him. "I can feel it."

"That's...unrelated." Dean clears his throat. "I've had too much to drink, that's all."

Cas quirks a brow. Simultaneously, lighting flashes, illuminating the dingy apartment. A few seconds later, thunder growls, rattling Dean's bones.

"It sounds close," Cas says carefully.

"Uh, yeah," Dean says, his hands clamped around his ankles again, his body starting to sweat. "Real close."

"Dean, stay here tonight."

"No, I got work tomorrow."

"Not until midday," Cas reminds him. "Besides, you can drop me off at IKEA in the morning."

Dean looks up at him. "Were you planning on going tomorrow? Or you just finding reasons for me to stay?"

Cas shrugs. "I was not not going to go. I just hadn't made up my mind yet, and now I have." He gives him a small smile. "Come on, it helps me out more than anything."

"But―"

"Stop being difficult," Cas orders, giving him a stern look. "You're staying. End of discussion."

Thunder rumbles then, louder than the previous. Dean simply squeaks, "Okay."

Cas nods encouragingly, planting himself on the floor again, their thighs touching. He lays an arm across Dean's shoulders, pulling him in close, his body warm and sturdy.

"It's darker in my room, you know," Cas says quietly. "We can block out the lightning, and my mattress is more comfortable than this floor, by far."

"I'm not sleeping on your termite-ridden―"

"There are no termites," Cas says impatiently. "You're being a germaphobe."

Dean glares at the floor, tucking himself in closer to Cas. "I'm allowed to be. We live in a disgusting, germy world, okay? I don't have to like that."

Cas cuddles him closer, resting his hand on Dean's shaved head, brushing along the short strands of his hair. "I know, but I'm not letting you sleep on the floor, so you're going to have to deal with it, okay?"

Dean grumbles, slipping his head under Cas' chin, his cheek squished against Cas' wide chest.

"Whatever," he huffs.

They stay there on the floor for a little while longer, thunder and lightning ringing out across the skies, brightening up the room intermittently. Dean trembles, but having Cas here makes things easier. The buzzing beneath his skin quietens just a little.

It's kinda weird that he's snuggling with Cas on the floor of his new, crappy apartment, but stranger things have happened in their relationship. Not that he'd admit it out loud, but he's never been opposed to getting up close and personal with his alarmingly attractive best friend.

Eventually, Dean whispers, "You still think I'm really hardcore though, right?"

Cas chuckles. Dean starts when he feels lips pressed to his hairline, but they linger long enough for him to relax into the touch; to enjoy it more than he probably should.

"I've never thought that about you, Dean Winchester," Cas tells him.

Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. "Fine. But, uh, don't tell anyone else about this, okay?"

Cas hides his smile in Dean's hair. "Okay, Dean."

"Especially Sam."

"Yeah, just, um, nervous." It wasn't completely a lie, this show was a big event for the both of him, as they were both the stars. It was fast-paced, but started slow and grave, only to continue at a moderate pace up, where the two main characters, which just happened to be these two males, ended close together. That was enough to make bother anyone.

It didn't help that Dean planned on confessing his crush to Castiel, which meant coming out to the school and everyone's families at the same time. He sent a silent prayer to the God he didn't believe in, hoping for a miracle and giving a silent thanks that his very homophobic father was a deadbeat dad and wouldn't make it to the show. Of course, thinking too hard would just make him upset, so he allowed himself to concentrate back on the dramatic lighting, the buzz of the crowd and the feeling he had of a string being twisted, tense and almost ready to snap.

All of that dissapeared when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard the soothing deep voice he had found solice in for many months now. "You'll do great, Dean. Trust me."

So he did, and how could he not? This being was beautiful, kind,  angelic even. It felt wrong not to give him his wholehearted trust and compassion. 'God, if Dad could hear me...'

His thoughts were interrupted when the announcer spoke, giving the title of the number, and telling everyone to get ready for “a breathtakingly beautiful performance” and suddenly he felt sick to his stomach, which, at this point, was nothing but a tangle of knots.

The music played, languid and smooth as it rose up from the speakers, surrounding the audience. The curtain was drawn open, red velvet folding in on itself as it rushed to reveal the group of members behind it, funnily enough all female except for the two in the middle, wearing black suits, the ones that Dean hated so much, especially now because it was too hot and the material was too tight and everything was collapsing in now.

He looked over, one breath away from an anxiety attack, only to find Castiel looking at him with an encouraging smile, and he couldn’t help but relax and even laugh softly at those dumb white angel wings strapped to his friend’s back. The dance begun shortly after, the group acting out a scene reminiscent of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, but tinged with the despair of The Scarlet Letter.

His movements were fluid, actions dynamic, and whenever he could he cast a glance over at his partner, who worked flawless. He had to admit, the announcer was right, even if it was about this one single dancer, who was just absolutely-

Lights off.

Had it really already been a minute and a half? It felt like shorter, but now, yes, it had been, and a perfect circle of yellow light focused on the shorter boy, who was staring Dean dead in the eye as if he was looking at the stars at night. His heart skipped a beat when another light flipped on, now aiming at him and now the big moment.

His breath hitched as green eyes met blue ones, and they gave each other a silent confirmation to let the other know that yes, it was time, and yes, they were ready. Castiel took a breath before starting, and completing, a perfect pirouette into the strong arms of the Winchester, where he was then lifted up and twirled about in the air, one, two, three times as the music’s beat got stronger, bass got louder, the pace quickening and damn it all if Dean’s pulse wasn’t skyrocketing at the same rate.

They ended with heaving chests, as the light finally managed to cover both of them, one of Dean’s hands resting on Castiel’s hip as his other was placed under his thigh, though if anything it was closer to his butt. The ‘angel’s right leg was hooked over his shoulder, and the left remained suspended in the air with his knee resting against his chest and holy shit they had done it. They had pulled it off.

Applause surrounded them as they stood there for a good minute, allowing everyone to take in the performance at its peak, which just so happened to be its end. As soon as Castiel was on the ground, Dean let out a huge breath, “That was amazing.” He whispered with a huge grin. There was no need to be professional, not with the crowd they had, and he didn’t know what it was but everyone was happy, cheering, applauding and their fellow dancers were looking at them with so much awe and adoration and suddenly he was cupping Cas’ cheeks and eagerly smashing his lips against his own, his shoulders tense and his actions so sudden and unexpected that even he himself wasn’t able to react smoothly.

Everyone seemed to gasp simultaneously, and his heart stopped for a moment, wondering if maybe, just maybe this was a bad idea. Doubt started forming into his brain and guilt and shame kneaded holes into his heart, his stomach, but right as he was about to pull away he felt the push back, the obvious sign that the other was not only okay with his impulsive decision, but reciprocated the feelings entwined.

He didn’t even think it was possible for the applause to be louder than before, but now it was, and he could’ve sworn he heard some ‘aww’s and a shutter noise or two. His freckled cheeks had to have been some shade of pink by now, but he knew if asked he’d blame it on being dead tired.

Cas had pulled away and was now looking at him, a grin on his face, “That was amazing.” He echoed, and Dean smiled, “Cas, buddy…”

The blue eyes he came to love flickered over to the stage manager, who would’ve been pointing crossly at her watch were she not talking excitedly to another woman – most likely over what had just transpired. It became obvious that he was checking to make sure he even had enough time to answer whatever Dean was about to say, “Yes, Dean?”

“I…I really like you man. Like, a lot.”

His mouth went dry as he waited for what seemed like an eternity, which was really about ten seconds in reality, before Cas chuckled, “I love you too, Dean."

The curtains shut at that moment, all at once, leaving the image of two heart-eyed teenagers staring at each other, hands clasped together, on the minds of many families and fellow students.

Oh god, the regret was intense this morning. Dean woke up, freezing since he never got under the comforter, and feeling absolutely disgusting. What the hell had he been thinking, not changing out of his scrubs? How many people had coughed on him yesterday? Did he get bled on yesterday? Probably. God knew what else was on them, including his own sweat and most likely stains from his lunch. Ugh.

He pulled all the sheets and comforter off the bed, and threw them into a pile by the front door. At least he didn’t have to work until tomorrow morning, he had time to do all this laundry.

Dean stripped off his scrubs, wincing at the bruises littering his left side. He really hated violence patients.

Stepping into the shower was one of the best feelings in the world, Dean would fight anyone who disagreed. He moaned in the simple pleasure of hot water coursing over his abused muscles. Humming in happiness, Dean reached for his soap and lathered up a washcloth. His humming soon turned into full blown singing. Because Dean felt good, okay? ACDC was the obvious choice to express his bliss.

Castiel turned over in his bed, groaning. Why, why, for the love of all that is holy, did his neighbor feel the need to sing in the shower? Every. Fucking. Day. And it was always at the most random times, too. What did the man do for a living that he was in the shower at all hours of the day? Castiel has never seen him in anything he would consider work clothes, only in torn jeans and flannels. And he filled those jeans with an amazing ass, and God knew his face was one angels’ sang praises about, but that did not in any way excuse the caterwauling that was coming through his walls right now. 

Currently it was 6:03 AM, and Castiel didn’t have to be awake for another two hours. He buried his head under his pillow, growling when that didn’t drown out his neighbor’s version of Back in Black.

This had to stop.

Castiel maybe should have thought this through more. Or, maybe, thrown on some pants before exiting his apartment, walking the ten or so feet up to his neighbor’s door, and starting to bang on the door. It was only after he had thumped angrily at the wood that he realized he was one - only in his boxers and an old, mostly see-through t-shirt, and two - had no idea what he was going to say.

The door swung inward, away from Castiel’s pounding fist, causing his hand to just barely brush against warm, wet skin.

Jesus fucking christ, he’s naked.

Well, Castiel had interrupted Neighbor Man’s shower, so it was understandable that he stood in the doorway in little more than a small white towel. This early in the morning, without his normal dose of coffee, Castiel would forgive himself the blatant staring he was currently doing.

Who knew his neighbor had great muscle tone on top of his fantastic ass and good Lord those eyes! Maybe Castiel was still in bed, dreaming.

"Uh, can I help you, man?" Neighbor Man’s eyebrow raised, full pink lips quirking in a mixture of confusion and amusement. Right, Castiel should probably say something.

"Your showers are annoying."

Brilliant, Castiel, just brilliant.

"My showers are…what now?" Dean’s earlier contentedness from his hot shower and his hotter neighbor oogling his body disappeared, frustrated confusion taking its place. How could his showers be annoying? 

Dean’s Hot Neighbor frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s six o’clock in the fucking morning.”

Trying not to be distracted by Hot Neighbor’s deep sexy growl of a voice, Dean leaned back to look at the clock on the wall next to his door. Well well, so it was. “Yeah, and?”

”And for the past three months I’ve been hearing you “sing” in the shower. And it’s six in the morning so for the love of God, stop.”

Wow, he had even thrown in the hand motions around the word ‘sing.’ Harsh. Then the implications of Hot Neighbor’s words actually got through to Dean - his Hot Neighbor had been listening to him sing in the shower for months. What else had he heard?!

”You can hear me through the walls?!” Dean exclaimed, trying to keep his voice under control. It wasn’t really working, considering the pubescent squeak on the last word.

Hot Neighbor sighed, looked at his bare feet - and bare legs holy shit those thighs - and grumbled under his breath. Then he took a deep breath, looked up with beautiful blue eyes, and grumbled out, “Please limit your singing to appropriate times, specifically when I’m not sleeping.”

With that, he turned and started to walk back to his apartment.

"Wait!"

Shit, why had Dean said that? He didn’t want Hot Neighbor to wait, he wanted to go bury himself in his couch and groan about thin walls.

"Yes?" Big Blue Eyes turned back around and stared sleepily at him.

"I just, uh, I’m sorry." Yes, apologizing, good strategy, much more appropriate than you have pretty eyes. "I didn’t realize you could hear anything through the walls, I didn’t mean to wake you up."

Hot Neighbor rubbed the back of his neck, shuffling uncomfortably on his feet. “It’s fine-“

"No, it’s not. I know how important sleep is, and I’ve been fucking your’s up. And I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you?" Well, it was official. Dean was hitting on his Hot Neighbor, wearing only a towel.

Hot Neighbor blinked a few times, his mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

”Shit, sorry man, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just, I wanted to apologize for the singing, and I just thought, hey why not right?” Dean was rambling, dear God please let him stop! “And now you’re freaked out ‘cause I’m hitting on you wearing just a stupid towel and you probably hate me for the singing don’t you? Fuck I’m-“ 

"Yes."

"-sorry- wait, what? Yes what?" Dean could feel a hot flush spreading from his cheeks to his ears. Hot Neighbor totally hated him.

"Yes, I’ll let you make it up to me. Perhaps dinner?" Hot Neighbor shuffled his feet again, his eyes flicking between Dean’s face and his torso, and sometimes even lower.

Dean smirked, leaning a shoulder against the wall. “Sure, dinner. Why don’t you come over around seven? I promise, no singing.”

Hot Neighbor locked gazes with him, nodded, and turned to go into his apartment. Then he stopped in his doorway and turned back to Dean, who had been taking the opportunity to admire his back muscles and especially his perky ass.

"What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Neighbor Man now, can I?"

Dean smirked, chuckling. “Dean Winchester. And you are?”

"Castiel Novak."

"Well, Cas, I’ll see you tonight." Glancing down at his unclothed self, he added, "And I promise I’ll wear clothes, too."

Cas, who didn’t seemed fazed by the shortening of his name, again took in Dean’s bare chest, smirked, and, turning to go into his apartment, said over his shoulder, “Don’t feel obligated, I don’t mind.”

Dean gaped as his neighbor’s door shut with a quiet click.

Tonight would definitely be interesting, that was apparent.

Castiel leaned against the back of the door, dumbfounded. Had he just been asked out on a date? With his annoying-but-hot neighbor? Had he just flirted with said neighbor? He had. And he was going to dinner with him tonight.

Castiel glanced at the clock above his kitchen sink and hurried into his bedroom. He would have to hurry if he wanted to stop by the pharmacy before class.