Castiel smiled as he woke the next morning, memories of the night before still running through his mind.
"That was… unexpected."
"I'm sorry. I just got ahead of myself."
"It's fine, Cas. Really." Dean cleared his throat. "You know, we could be-"
"But what if someone found out? I couldn't do that to you, Dean."
"This is Paris. We're fine."
"You don't know that."
A knock sounded at his door, and Castiel rose from his bed, rubbing his face and running a hand through his hair. He opened the door a crack, peering out into the hallway.
"Morning, Castiel," Dean said, a wolfish grin on his face.
Castiel cleared his throat. "Hello, Dean."
"Are you going to invite me in?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes, yes of course. Come in." As he swung the door open, Dean pressed a kiss to Castiel's mouth, propelling the two of them into Castiel's small flat. "Dean!" Castiel said, grabbing onto his shoulders as they fell to the ground.
"I've got you. It's okay. It's okay." Dean stood, helping Castiel to his full height. "You awake now?" he asked, smirking.
"Slightly," Castiel answered, smiling sleepily. He turned away from Dean, looking down.
"Are you okay?" Dean inquired, his voice going soft.
"Yes. I'm fine, Dean."
"If it's about last night, I-"
"No," Castiel said, turning back to Dean. "Last night- last night was fantastic, Dean. I had the time of my life."
"I'm glad, Castiel." Dean looked at his feet, attempting to hide a grin.
"I can see that. You're smiling."
"What? No I'm not."
Castiel shook his head at Dean. "Don't pretend you aren't."
"I'm not smiling," Dean said, looking up at Cas, his face a mask showing no emotion.
"I don't believe you for one second, Dean Winchester."
"Fine, don't believe it."
Castiel smiled. He felt his chest tighten. "Excuse me," he muttered, fishing through the pockets of his pajamas for a handkerchief, pulling one out in time for him to cough violently into it. He took a deep breath before checking for blood, praying that it was only a coughing fit. His heart dropped as he saw the red spots on the cloth, and he quickly wiped away any traces on his face.
"Castiel are you all right?"
He nodded, his chest heaving. Castiel knew what was coming next. "Go," he said, waving Dean away, his voice wheezy.
"Cas-"
"Dean, I'm fine. I just… need a moment. Go, enjoy your morning."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'll meet you after the café closes this afternoon. I'm sorry."
"It's fine, Castiel." Dean kissed him softly. "I'll see you later."
"See you."
Castiel could feel his chest tightening again, and after he had seen Dean out, he doubled over, coughs racking his body.
"Goddammit," he muttered, grimacing. "It's too fast. It's too fast. This can't be now. Not when I've just gotten to Paris. Not when I have this, have Dean. I have someone for god's sake."
"Merci, Monsieur Novak. Vous êtes vraiment un travailleur spectaculaire."
"Merci, er, de rien. Au revoir. À demain?" Castiel smiled at his supervisor, taking his apron off and hanging it on a hook.
"À demain."
Castiel nodded and headed out the back door of the café, the sun warming his face as he looked up into the sky.
"Fancy meeting you here, Castiel," a voice said to his left.
"Dean? I wasn't expecting you to be here as soon as we closed. You're usually still working."
"True. Slow day at the bar."
Castiel laughed, his eyes lighting up. "So they let their best bartender go early?"
"No. I was only scheduled for that time block."
"Ah. All right."
"How were things for you today?" Dean asked, beginning the short walk to their building.
"Steady, compared to last Friday. It was extremely busy last week. And I was even beginning my training then."
"The work is treating you well, isn't it?"
"Yes. And I'm learning more French every day, even though I studied it in school."
"School?"
"Yes, back in New York. School was the most amazing thing that could have happened to me. I was so lucky to be able to study."
"Why did you leave, then?"
"I-" Castiel paused, racking his brain for an answer that would still leave Dean in the dark. "I became disillusioned with society. I wanted to travel."
"But why Paris? Why not London, Rome or Madrid?"
"Everyone has been to London, and I had no desire to go to Italy or Spain. I wanted it to be France."
"Any particular reason?"
It's the place I had already told myself I wanted to live out the rest of my days, Castiel thought as he frowned.
"Castiel?"
"Uh, I've always had a desire to live in France- to experience it for myself. At least, before I die."
"Isn't that a little morbid? You have an entire life ahead of you, Cas."
"Not really," he murmured, praying Dean wouldn't hear him. "Yes, I suppose so. A whole life."
He stopped walking for a moment, imagining that life. A long life, where he could grow old with someone; he could have children and grandchildren. Shaking his head, he began walking again, leaving Dean behind.
"Castiel, wait!"
"What?" He turned to see Dean running after him.
"You shouldn't think and walk at the same time. You're too fast."
"I'm sorry." He smiled sheepishly. "I can't help it, Dean. I get lost in my thoughts too much."
"You're a writer, aren't you?"
Castiel was slightly taken aback. He eyed Dean questioningly. "How-"
"It's what you just said. 'Getting lost in your thoughts'. Only writers talk like that. You're a writer who's a hopeless romantic who moved to Paris to write and, if at all possible, to find someone to fall in love with. Tell me, Castiel: have you written anything yet?"
"I-" Dean silenced him with a soft kiss.
"You haven't, have you?"