It had begun as a sketch and idle drawing while bored in class. But suddenly moments later there was Dean at the edge of his paper. Cas realized that he had completely zoned out and missed what the teacher had been saying.

"With the proper shading technique," they continued and Cas watched with rapt attention. Class ended, and Cas began his hike across campus up the hill. Cursing his class schedule, he grunted carrying his backpack. The wind blew fallen leaves around in mini-tornadoes scattering down the hill. He shivered a little, his thin shirt was not good enough to protect from the encroaching cold.

In his next class, Cas was sitting down in his seat, when no one other than Dean walked it. In afterthought, it shouldn't have been surprising. As a writer, Dean would be taking a journaling class, Cas thought.

"Cas?" Dean asked smiling, his green eyes lit up.

"Hey," Cas answered with a smile as well. Dean slid into the seat next to him, his black backpack shoved under the cream-colored desk.

"So what is an 'artist' doing in a journaling class," Dean asked craning his neck to stare at him.

"Well, I figured it would be interesting," Cas answered honestly.

"Sure it wasn't to be in the same class as me?" Dean waggled his eyebrows. Cas sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I'm pretty sure as I met you months after I chose my schedule..."

"Whatever," Dean laughed and crossed his legs leaning back so that instead chair stood on its back legs.

"I'll laugh when you fall over," Cas remarked a smile on his face.

"Oh really," Dean raised an eyebrow and leaned back even further. Cas shook his head, "I tried to tell you," He said woefully and turned away to stare at the white walls of the room dramatically.

Then, the teacher walked in the door slamming behind him. Startled, Dean attempted to get back, but in the process, he lost balance and slammed to the wooden floor with an obnoxiously loud crash. Everyone looked around to see Dean lying on the floor groaning.

"I'm fine," He called already smiling again. He picked himself up and brought the chair upright.

"Told you so," Cas whispered.

"Whatever," Dean replied and turned to face the teacher.

Flipping through his journal, Cas came face to face with his drawing of Dean again. He continued this time green pen in hand. He carefully colored Dean's eyes, trying to capture the myriad hues when the light played on his eyes.

The lined paper was annoying, marring Dean's face, but Cas could always color over it later, or use white out if need be. He's jolted back to attention by Dean whispering in his ear, "Whatcha drawing?" Dean's breath tickled his neck making his hairs stand on end. Dean craned over to look.

"Nothing!" Cas quickly slammed the journal shut with a thump. A few students looked back, but thankfully the teacher remained oblivious.

"All right then," Dean remarked, "No need to get defensive." He leaned back in his seat resting his head on the backs of his arms, nonchalantly. Cas let out a breath, that would've been awkward. Hey man, I'm drawing you cause I think you're really pretty. And that was true, it wasn't that he was handsome, I mean he WAS handsome, but his eyes could only really be described as beautiful.

Cas slowly flipped back to a different page, determined to draw something that was not Dean. He finally settled on a fly perched on the windowsill, not moving in the late morning sun. His pencil flew across the page deliberate and determined. Cas was so intent on his picture, that he barely heard the teacher's words until Dean poked him.

"Hey, Mr. Private," He joked, "It's time to go."

"Sorry," Cas answered closing his notebook standing up.

"Why were you so concerned about me seeing you drawing a fly?" Dean asked. He stood up grabbing his backpack and his journal from the table.

"I don't know, I just don't like people seeing my art," Cas explained. It was true, especially when pieces weren't finished.

"Then how are you going to sell anything," Dean asked.

"Well, I'm fine with people seeing some of my work just not all of it." Dean didn't look convinced, "Besides, do you let people read your writing?" Cas countered.

"Fair point," Dean admitted giving a small half laugh. They walked outside and Cas clutched his arms, the cold attacking him yet again. And he had to hike all the way back across campus to the mess hall.

"You should've worn a sweater," Dean remarked clad in his own comfortably warm jacket.

"I know." Cas glared at him rubbing his arms. He sped up determined to get out of the cold as quickly as possible.

"Hurry up," He called back to Dean who was strolling languidly emphasizing his deep breaths and admiration of the landscape.

"No, I think I'm going to stay out here in this pleasant weather for a little while longer."

"Fine," Cas said, "I'll go without you."

"I'm hurt by this betrayal," Dean said to no one in hurried to catch up with him. He threw one arm around Cas's neck. Cas turned around surprised. The physical touch unnerved him, but it was warm, so he didn't complain.

They reached the mess hall together and Cas went in, glad to be out of the cold, but when Dean unslung his arm from his neck, he missed the weight of it.

"Does this temperature better suit you," Dean mocked, " My highness."

"Yes," Cas said vehemently and went off to get his food. He sensibly chose a salad with some fruit, while the monster behind him took a family's worth of food.

"What are you an elephant," Cas asked incredulously as they sat down, Dean's food teetering precariously at the edges of his plate. Cas swore he could see the white paper buckling under the weight.

"And what are you a rabbit," Dean replied looking at Cas's salad, disgusted, "I've seen five-year-olds eat more."

"And I've seen 500 pound Sumo wrestlers eat less,"

"Well, I burn off the calories," Dean said flexing. Cas laughed. "That's why you eat so little, you're so scrawny you don't need anything,"

"Hey." Cas pretended to be offended and lightly punched Dean's arm.

"See, that was the weakest punch I've ever seen," Dean gloated and took a sip of water. Cas didn't deign to respond and instead took a bite of his salad. Dean too began to inhale his massive meal and Cas looked on in equal parts awe and disgust.

Somehow, inexplicably Dean finished before Cas did.

"How?" Cas gaped, his mouth hanging open, "How did you finish before me?"

"Talent," Dean said simply and placed his fork onto the cleared plate.

"I wouldn't call that," Cas gestured to Dean's empty plate, "Talent." He pursed his lips holding back a laugh.

"Well, it's a more efficient use of the limited time I have on Earth," Dean argued.

"Getting philosophical are we?" Cas raised an eyebrow.

"I'm a writer aren't I, we're supposed to be deep and philosophical"