Cas found that by the end of October, he'd be walking around with a well fueled flu...or pneumonia. Whichever developed faster, at this point he couldn't find it in himself to really care. He was tired of the rain. It made his bones ache and his ceiling leak, and sometimes if it rained bad enough, his floors would creak extra loudly just by a change in draft direction.
His bike was useless now. He decided the bus would be the next best idea. He pulled out his best umbrella from the hallway closet (more of a small hole in the wall in which he could fit umbrella-shaped things) and made sure it didn't have any holes. He flipped all the flickering lights off as the thunder rumbled, shaking all of his knick knacks and picture frames. He sighed-he didn't want to go to work.
He stepped out of the large, slightly intimidating apartment building and raised his umbrella, finding that the lever was rusted and refused to open the protection from the bitter cold rain.
Cas silently begged for God to give him a break, just a five second one, so he could open his umbrella, but instead, lightning struck, lighting up the sky in bright whites and vivid blues. He took that as a no, and was forced to leave his rusted umbrella behind, and run to the bus stop in his cheap suit (with a tie slightly too big. His mom was never good with sizes). By the time he got there, he was running 5 minutes late behind schedule, soaked in cold rain water.
He waited for the bus. And waited. And waited. He checked his watch. Ten minutes passed...fifteen...twenty, and then his phone pinged.
"Bus 478 will be cancelled," he read to himself aloud, and felt the tension in his shoulders rise by 100%. "Dammit," he hissed, shoving his phone in his pocket. Hitch hiking went through his mind, then simply calling off, but dammit he had an important meeting with the CEOs and managers today. Fuck.
Cas walked, socks soaked and jacket pure water. His hair dripped down his jaw, caught in small pools on his lips and he thought maybe, if God hated him enough, he'd drown. But he didn't. He was only an hour late, and was only yelled at by Greg 5 times before being told to go to the mens room to dry off a little bit. No sympathy, per usual, but Cas wasn't a fan of sympathy. He had enough for himself, and could be spared the idiotic 'I'm sorry's from everyone else.
Whatever.
He used the hand dryer to dry off his jacket and shirt. He locked the door while he did his pants, hoping his underwear would dry by themselves. He even knelt down and dried his hair. When he was done, his suit was a bit wrinkled and damp, his hair was an absolute wreck, and he looked beyond tired and frustrated, but hey, whatever.
The building he worked in wasn't very plain Jane. Honestly, with how fancy it was he was surprised that he couldn't afford anything. Being paid 11.25 an hour, he made just enough to pay his rent and buy some noodles or corn dogs and some water bottles to last the month. It was 15 floors tall, the exterior completely mirrored and sterling silver, catching the NYC light during the day and, like now, the bright advertisement lights at night. He loved it, despite the poor pay and shitty apartment. This was his dream city, and he'd be damned if he was forced out by some stupid rain.
The interior was pure marble and pristine glass and aluminum. Warm colors were in the lobby, with a large receptionist desk made of mahogany and beautiful marble, with two stunning blondes sitting behind either end. Through the halls were a set of elevators, the doors outlined in gold and the inside of the elevator lighted by bright, blue lights at night and gorgeous cream lights during the day.
He worked on the seventh floor in Nikita Winehouse's division, where he's an editorial assistant. Nikita has a lot of assistants, but Cas seems to be her favorite. When he sat down, a pile of work came straight from her red manicured hands.
"I want this done by tomorrow morning," she said, pointing a finger to it. Cas opened his mouth to object to the stack of 12 different files. "I've already edited them, just proofread them and send them through to their publishers. If I find one mistake, Cas, I'm going to have your head on a platter for dinner, you got it?"
Cas frowned deeply and thumbed through each folder. "How am I supposed to get all of these done by tomorrow morning? We close at 11PM and I don't have a computer at my house."
"Stay late, come in early, don't ask me," Nikita began to walk away but she stopped short, "and we have that meeting in five. Don't be late."
Cas leaned his head against his hands and growled at himself. He steamed for the entire five minutes until it turned into six minutes and he was running to the meeting room, bursting through the door without the simple hesitation knock.
All eyes connected to his and the files in his hands were slipping. Eyes frantic, he tried to find Nikita in the sea of men and women. She stood, taking the attention off of him just long enough for him to rush over and grab the seat in front of her.
"Sorry, sir, my assistant...is late," she directed the last to him with an icy cold glare as she sat. He sat down quickly, and scrambled to get the files under control. Most of the men huffed slightly and turned away, ready to get back to discussion, while one of them kept his eyes glued purely on Cas.
Cas's eyes snapped up to meet dark, forest green eyes staring right through him. Eyes connected to a beautifully tanned face, full of scruff and messy-but-professional caramel hair, just a bit darker on the ends. Blue swirled with green for a simple moment, lost in time, lost in universe, and Cas was confused.
"Cas," Nikita's voice snapped him out of his funk, and for a moment he didn't know where he was. "Where's the Burmingham file?" She hissed lowly.
Cas couldn't focus on what she was saying. God, it felt like his gaze was pure heat, burning through his skin. He couldn't think. For a damn second he thought he couldn't even remember his own name.
"Bu-Burmingham?" He stuttered out, trying to concentrate on the name. It sounded familiar, slightly important, and Cas remembered. "Shit!" He gasped a little too loudly, and somehow that fucking green gaze intensified through his skin. He was going to fucking explode. "It's at my apartment. I forgot it on my rush here."
"You what?"
"Is there a problem, Miss Winehouse?" Owner of the entire fucking company, the man that held all of their asses on a damn platter if he wanted them for dessert, raised his eyebrows and glanced from Nikita to Cas, then back.
"It...it, uh, seems it's not quite finished yet," Nikita laughed nervously. "My assistant, Cas, hasn't finished the reports, but it'll be handed into you within the next two hours if you wish to hang around."
"Yes, seems not to be a problem,"
Cas stood abruptly, cutting the owner off, gaining everyone's eyes, even those green ones (which hadn't necessarily left in the first damn place), and laughed. He fucking laughed.
"Nikita," he said her name like it tasted disgusting, which it did. "I have twelve files on my desk that you want turned in my tomorrow morning, probably on your desk before you get here, and I refuse to rush all the way home in the fucking rain to get this one damn file for you within the next two hours."
Nikita gasped from her seat, and everyone around them gasped, except for green eyes. He looked oddly amused.
"I'm sorry. I quit. I can't do this." He shook his head and left, adrenaline floating through his veins like ecstasy.
"Cas!" Nikita shouted behind him. "Don't."
Cas ignored her, earning more gasps, and left, shutting the door softly behind him.
And all he could fucking think about was those green eyes.