He sat down across the table, which wouldn't have meant anything to Cas, if it hadn't been for the briefcase.
You see a wide range of people on college campuses and, in accordance with that, wide variations in dress. It's just a feature of this transitory period. Students could go from wearing a sweater with elbow patches one day to running shorts and a muscle-tee the next and a blazer overtop a plaid shirt with a tie the day after that. So it wasn't uncommon to see a student in a suit, even if it was as well-fitted as the one this guy was wearing. No, suits were normal; it was the briefcase that was conspicuous.
The briefcase made Cas wonder if the guy was a student after all. Maybe he was just a very young looking professor, or a visiting ambassador of business, or some rich kid on an assignment from his rich father to see the new wing of the library his family had donated. He looked like his name could be Edgar or Franklin – the full name, never Ed or Frank – and he looked like this briefcase was not the only one he owned, nor the most expensive.
A briefcase was leagues above standard student carry-ons. Cas himself subtly moved his satchel from the table to the seat next to him, hoping the newcomer hadn't noticed the coffee stain on the bottom or that the book-bag itself was made from recycled rice bags. Cas's satchel was usually quite the talking point – made Cas look interesting – but he thought this time he'd come at the situation from another angle. This guy was too elegant for eco-friendly accessories.
The set-up: elegant, tall, attractive man sits across the table from a scruffy college student wearing a hoodie that's seen better days and a bad case of bedhead despite the fact that it was 4 o'clock in the afternoon. He had to have a reason for picking this seat, despite these apparent differences. Him with his strong jaw and smooth, dark skin chose this seat across from Cas with his flushed cheeks and cracked, twitchy hands. That was a hook.
Cas could see how this would play out: Edgar would settle into his seat, his perfect posture a contrast to Cas's own slump over his laptop. He would smoothly open his briefcase taking out… something. Cas didn't know enough about him to say what that something would be yet but in Cas's mind it's papers he'd be shuffling importantly. So the man– boy– student would shuffle his papers, pointedly yet distractedly, until he looked up and caught Cas's eye. Cas would blush, embarrassed to have been caught looking, but Edgar would hold his eye, smirking welcomingly, his upturned lip inviting Cas to join in on the joke. Cas would smile back, still embarrassed, but emboldened enough to reach across the table with an open hand and say "Hi, I'm Cas."
All of this, this whole scenario Cas had concocted, was imagined in the second between the guy in the suit pulling out his chair and lowering himself into it. Cas had no patience to wait for the embarrassed glances or the imagined paper shuffling; he was ready to start the story now.
"Hi, I'm–" Cas had not accounted for the full cup of hot tea the guy had set down on the table. His open hand smacked right into it.
Starbucks should really consider looking into more secure cup lids because this one popped right off, releasing the scalding contents to flow freely over the table. There wasn't another student for a three-chair radius but everyone at the table lept back anyway, snatching at their various electronics to save them from the damaging liquid. Cas snatched his laptop with the retreating hand that had caused the damage in the first place, hurriedly grabbing for the falling cup to try and salvage the spill and failing spectacularly.
In fact, Cas's interruption of an otherwise natural and graceful arc of the cup falling to the table disrupted the contents even more, successfully burning his own hand and, somehow, the other guy's face in the act. That hot water could get some serious air.
It didn't seem like briefcase guy new what to panic about. He was probably in pain from the hot contact with his skin, but he seemed more concerned with the state of his nice suit, which was now sporting some fabulous wet patches on his sleeves and tie, and his briefcase, which Cas had to assume was made of real and really expensive leather from the way the guy was fussing with it.
Cas could barely focus on the litany of apologies he was spouting, fumbling to put his laptop in his bag and too embarrassed to really know what he was saying. Cas ended up trailing off with a muttered something about napkins as he watched the guy flounder. He scurried off before he could see if briefcase guy had acknowledged him in any way, getting lost in a montage of previous times he'd righteously Fucked Up.
There was that guy who was working concessions at the movie theater that Cas was sure was flirting with him. Zeke. Cas spent the entire film thinking about what he'd say to him when he left the auditorium: he'd talk about how he liked the film (making something up as he wasn't really paying attention to it) and he'd ask Zeke if he'd seen it then ask him if maybe he wanted to watch another one with Cas and they could talk about it over coffee or something suitably kitschy. But when Cas made his way back out to the concessions in the lobby, Zeke wasn't there. This would have been fine if Cas hadn't gone up to the counter and asked where Zeke had gone.
"He left." She looked bored. Her nametag said Naomi. "Clocked out about a half hour ago."
This would have been fine, if Cas hadn't asked if Zeke had mentioned him.
Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Mentioned you? Are you a friend of his?"
"Um," Cas shifted on his feet. "Maybe? Are you sure there's not a note from him or something? For Cas?"
That was not fine. That could never have been fine.
Naomi still looked bored but also disgusted. "Do you even know Zeke?"
Cas shrugged. "We had a moment."
"Get the hell out of here."
Cas did.
There had been that girl at the library that Cas was sure liked him. Eileen. She'd been looking for a place to sit and read and had asked him if the seat next to him was free. Her voice sounded off, her speech unpracticed, so Cas told her it was free, through both speech and sign language. She was delighted to meet someone who could sign and explained to him that she was a gifted lip reader but it was nice to communicate this way for a change. Cas was sure it would turn into something. A boy who could sign meets a deaf girl and they just so happen to be reading in the library at the same time? But when Cas tried to give Eileen his number, she smiled, embarrassed, and told him she had a boyfriend. This would have been fine if Cas hadn't asked if her boyfriend was deaf, too.
Eileen looked mildly irritated, like she got this question a lot but knew Cas meant well.
No, he's hearing. She signed. It was pretty rough at first while he was still learning to sign but he's better now.
This would have been fine, if Cas hadn't expressed how hard that must have been for her.
She looked more than mildly irritated this time. More like mildly pissed. It's really not that big of a deal. We're past it.
Cas tried to make his face look sympathetic. Still, I'd hate for his blundering to make evident your disability.
That was not fine. That could never have been fine.
There was no mild about it anymore, Eileen was pissed. Her gestures got broader and harder to read, certain words sharpening intensely with emphasis. I am not disabled. And this really isn't any of your business. You don't get to feel self-righteous or like we have some special connection because you can sign. Lots of people can sign, you're not special.
Cas tried to apologize or argue back but Eileen turned from him so she couldn't see his hands or his mouth, effectively cutting him off.
She spoke as well as signed over her shoulder as she walked away. "Go to hell."
Cas considered it.
And then, of course, there was Meg. This one wasn't some chance encounter, this was a girl Cas kind of knew. From classes or mutual friends or whatever, he could definitely pick out her face in a group picture and say 'yup, that's Meg' even without knowing her major, her hobbies, or even her last name. So when she came up to him at a party – a party that Cas was only attending because he was the only person he trusted to commit to being designated driver – and started viciously making out with him, he at least didn't have to wonder who this person was that started kissing him apropos of nothing. 'Yup, that's Meg.'
That, by itself, wouldn't have caught Cas's interest – drunk people make out at parties all the time, regardless if Cas was actually drunk or not – if not for what she said next: "Sorry about that, I just needed to piss off Luke." Cas had no idea who Luke was, but he was familiar enough with the plot, the 'can you pretend to be my boyfriend for five minutes?' was straight out of Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist. This would have been fine if Meg hadn't started leaving immediately after Luke had looked away.
"Is that it?" Cas had asked, just refraining from grabbing her arm to stop her from leaving.
She stopped anyway, her mouth quirked in condescending amusement. "Is what it? You got a problem?"
Cas chose not to bring up the issue of consent and how he did not consent to the kiss. That was never an issue in the movies.
This would have been fine if Cas hadn't tried to get her to stay.
Meg's smile turned from condescending to cruel. "What, did you think we'd had this bonding moment and now we're going to off and have some romantic adventure?"
That had been exactly what Cas had thought.
That was not fine. That could never have been fine.
He didn't even like Meg.
She snorted as she walked away. "Get a life, Clarence."
His name wasn't Clarence, but Cas thought he'd try.
When Cas got back to Briefcase Guy with the napkins, he already seemed resigned to a damp tie and ruined leather. His briefcase was open and Cas was mildly satisfied to see that there were papers in there, along with an iPad and what Cas considered to be an unreasonable amount of Tic Tacs. Not even the good ones either, Cas noted, They're the shitty cherry ones.
Cas was sure the judgment didn't show on his face but he put on a look of sympathy anyway. "I'm really, really, super sorry about this." The embarrassment had come back full force and Cas didn't even need to try to make his voice sound pathetically apologetic.
The guy finally looked up at him, accepting the napkins with a tight-lipped smile and a bob of his head.
Cas wasn't entirely emboldened by the gesture but he proceeded anyway.
"Hi," he began, trying to get back the feeling he'd had before of Starting Something. "I'm Cas."
He was halfway to extending his hand for a handshake before remembering the situation they were in. He dropped it lamely and cleared his throat.
"Let me at least buy you another tea," Cas offered. "I know the baristas here, it won't be 10 minutes."
The guy was shaking his head before Cas had even finished his sentence, blotting himself with the napkins. "No, that's okay." His voice was not as deep as Cas had expected. It wasn't even as deep as Cas's own voice and smoother where Cas sounded rough.
"Please, let me," Cas winced at his deep gravel, wishing his voice wasn't so grating. Like every word had already lived three lives before it made its way out of his mouth. "It's my fault you haven't had your tea."
"Yes it is," the man– student– guy agreed, harshly. "But I don't really have time to assuage your guilt. So thank you for the offer and the napkins but I think I'll be going."
Cas was still standing behind his chair, hands half full of napkins, as he watched Edgar or Franklin snap his briefcase closed and stride away, leaving his empty Starbucks cup and Cas behind him.
The other people at the surrounding tables weren't looking at him, exactly, but he could feel their awareness of him as he slowly sank back into his chair. The guy hadn't really cleaned up the mess on the table, too concerned with his own things, which meant that the hot water had dripped on Cas's seat and his bag on the seat next to him. Cast could feel the wet spot through the thin fabric of his yoga pants but he wasn't worried. He never wore anything to campus anymore he wasn't afraid to fuck up. One more stain probably wouldn't hurt. Cas set to cleaning up the puddle on the table.
After he'd thrown away the napkins and empty cup (Victor had been the name on the cup. Cas could see Victor.), Cas opened his laptop back up and hovered over the assignment he'd been working for before briefcase guy – Victor – interrupted everything. It was a simple assignment: 'give an account of the significant events in your main character's life, from childhood to just before your story begins.' Cas had been excited about it so he was starting it early, but now…
Cas waffled for a bit before closing out of his assignment and opening his blog. He absolutely needed to post about what had just happened.
Later – later that month? later that year? later that very same day? – later. Cas was cold. He was so cold and he didn't bring a hat and the wind was ripping the skin from his mouth and soon he'd be just a frozen grinning skull.
So he called an Uber.
Well, 'calling' is outdated, like one would say you 'call for a cab.' Uber's an app. But isn't sending for one also 'calling'? Like when gentlemanly folk in Austenian times would 'come calling' they weren't literally calling.
Cas was waiting for an Uber, reluctant to be out on the sidewalk but not wanting his Uber driver to miss him. He never really used Ubers and he wouldn't be now if not for his very real fear of the cold taking two giant bites from his ears. He was rather fond of his ears.
He watched the little car on the app get turned around and confused on campus. The app told him what model of car to look out for but it didn't give Cas any actually helpful information like 'it's a blue car' or 'your driver will be wearing a headset.' A car exactly like that – blue and the driver was wearing a headset – had been up and down the street in front of Cas for a couple minutes so Cas took the shot and approached. "Are you my Uber?"
He was still across the street from the car so he had to shout a little for the driver to hear him. "I don't know, am I?" he called back.
"Cas?" he pointed at himself hopefully and the driver smiled.
"I'm Chuck! Hi, Cas, hop on in."
Cas huffed a sigh of relief and crossed the street. Before he could open the back door though he heard someone call his name.
"Cas!"
He didn't recognize the voice and when he looked up to see where it had come from he definitely didn't recognize the face. He paused, waiting for the guy to jog up to him, noting how freezing he must be in his logger boots and military jacket. He also wasn't wearing a hat or scarf.
His cheeks and nose were red with cold but his eyes and smile were bright. "You're Cas? I saw the Uber driving up and down and thought I'd see if you'd split it with me."
Cas probably should have taken a moment to consider this. Complete stranger – two if you count the Uber driver – in a small space just trusting them to get him home safe. But it was fucking cold so without hesitating Cas said 'sure' and swung the door open so the guy could hop inside.
He looked startled, like he didn't think it would be that easy to get Cas to agree to share the ride, but it was really fucking cold so he hopped in with only a few seconds of pause.
Cas climbed in after him, slamming the door firmly behind him and breathing on his hands. He only half registered the kid – boy – student next to him and the words of gratitude he was spilling.
They had a brief confusion, wondering if they should take Cas or the other boy home first, but Cas insisted that because he lived farther, he would get dropped off second, despite the fact that this was his Uber.
The guy kept thanking him, his voice bright like his smile, though rich and warm too. Like a candle rather than a camera flash. Enduring and endearing.
Cas looked at him, really looked at him for the first time.
His bright smile was framed by pink lips and 5 o'clock shadow, the color of his beard more red than the dull golden color of his hair. Traveling up, he had a long nose and an absolute galaxy of freckles spread across it and over his cheeks. The freckles bring Cas right up to his eyes, crinkled with his smile, his crow's feet extending towards his temples. The color of his eyes... Cas hadn't even realized he was saving them for last. They were a brilliant green, both warm and clear, like a pond or a cup of China green tea.
China green tea. Warm, bright. Green. Freckles.
The set-up: rustic, tall, attractive man runs to ask a scruffy college student wearing a dirty trench coat overtop of his hoodie that's seen better days and a bad case of bedhead despite the fact that it was 5:30 in the afternoon if he can share his Uber. But no. That wasn't right. This guy was also kind of scruffy, in a friendly neighborhood dog kind of way. He looked like his name would be Michael or Harley, and he wouldn't hate you if you called him Mikey. He wasn't uppity but still, there were differences. Him with his expressive eyes and voice rich like kind words cost him nothing. And Cas with his stonewall look and hands that wouldn't unclench against his thighs. But he'd approached Cas anyway. That was a hook.
But no. It was just cold. The only thing noteworthy about Cas at that moment was that he had a warm car he might have been willing to share.
Cas could see how this would play out: Michael would sit beside him in the back seat, trying to make attempts at friendly conversation despite Cas's awkwardness. And then they'd get to his destination. Michael would probably offer Cas a few bucks – he seemed like the type – and then Cas would never see him again. He'd probably never even learn his real name.
All of this, this whole scenario Cas had concocted, was imagined in the second between one word of thanks and the next. The guy with the green eyes was still smiling and looking at Cas like Cas had given him the moon instead of a ride.
Maybe this time…
"Hi," Cas interrupted, sticking out his hand, stiffly. "I'm Cas."
The guy laughed, not seeming at all put off by Castiel's sudden and rude introduction. "Yeah, Cas, I know." But he grasped Cas's hand tight in his. "I'm Dean."
Dean. That was way better than what Cas had come up with.
Cas smiled without thinking about it and Dean smiled bigger, his cheeks pulling up towards his ears. He was rather fond of Dean's ears.
By the end of the ride, Cas did have a few bucks, but he also had a number under the name 'Dean' in his phone.
He'd wait to blog about it until after their first date.