**Author's Note: _

Another ch. in one day! :D
BE PROUD I HAD HW. ):

More fluff motherfuckers- hell yes! :D

ENJOY!~

Castiel sits at his desk, typing up the interview with Dean Winchester into the word document. He fidgets in his chair, the number missing from the top corner of his notebook. Castiel wasn't stupid, and walking into his office with Dean's number in a room full of inspiring writers and die-hard-fangirls, it wasn't the wisest idea to leave it there. Instead, it was locked away in Castiel's apartment so well, that he thought he might even lose it himself.

He starts to type up the next paragraph when his phone starts to ring. He looks the unknown number and scowls, instead of letting it ring, he answers.

"I think I have some things to add to my answers."

Castiel almost drops his phone onto the floor, but thankfully his desk was underneath his palms, and as he flails to grab it, he can Dean chuckle over the line. He quickly presses it to his ear again, "D-Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me Cas." Castiel almost swallows wrong at the nickname again, "I just wanted to help you edit some stuff- how's about six sound? Do you think you can make it over to my place again by that time?"

Castiel is speed walking towards the stairwell, because he knows if anyone hears who he's talking to- he'll never get his phone back, "That works. How did you get my number?"

"I found it on your magazine's website. Also- I researched you."

As the door shuts behind Castiel, he's glad he has something to lean on. His knees buckle but thankfully his words are stronger than he expects them to be, "You searched me?"

Dean chuckles, and even through the shit quality of Castiel's phone it makes him nearly trip as he walks forward away from the door, "Yeah- I did. I also found some of your other stories. Seems I've been reading your stuff for a while now. I always loved the horoscopes, looked forward to them every week. I never found out who wrote them till now. Seems like you have a sense of humor."

"Thanks… Wait- if you found that… did you find… the research paper?"

"I did."

Castiel hits his head against the wall of painted brick, "Dammit."

Dean laughs, the sound of him shuffling something playing grittily through the phone's speaker, "Really though, Cas? You decided to write a paper on that?"

When Castiel was in high school, his biology teacher decided that their final be a paper on anything that was related to science. Castiel hated his teacher and most of the kids in his class, so as a joke and insult to the teacher- he came up with the funniest thing he could write about. Apparently, his undeveloped maturity and childlike humor thought barbed cat penises were the best thing he could force his teacher to read about. In the end, it back fired- naturally- because his biology teacher turned it into some scientific paper competition and Castiel won first place. He hated that more than anything.

"My favorite line from it was, 'I am positive the females were not consulted on that.'." Dean laughs again, "Really Cas- out of all the things to write-?"

Castiel has to wait to answer because Dean is laughing so hard, "It was a joke, okay? It just so happens that people took it seriously…"

After a few more chuckles, Dean just sighs happily, "I can see why, despite the topic it was really well written."

"Thank you." Castiel swallows and lets the question he's been thinking go, "Am I wasting your time or something?"

"Of course not! It isn't sacred, Cas. Besides, I am the one who asked you to come join me."

The writer sighs, "That is true. I'll see you at six."

"Later, Cas."

Dean hangs up and Castiel tries to catch up his breath and he tries to process all that has happened in the past twenty-four hours. He walks back into the building, fixing his suit and acting as if he was not just on the phone with Dean Winchester- and no, Dean did not just invite him back over. Even though there probably isn't anyone paying him a lick of attention, Castiel feels like his skin is on fire and there is secretly hundreds of pairs of eyes tracking his back as he makes his way to his desk.

Today was going to kill him.

When the taxi pulls up once again to the curb of Dean's building, Castiel is sure that it will. He's dressed just as professionally as before- because this is business and nothing else. Dean is going to correct things with his interview and not talk to Castiel about anything else, he's certain. His heart is thumping against his ribs as the elevator dings up as it passes each floor upwards. His mouth is dry as for the second time in his life- however hard and troubling it is to process- Castiel Novak is knocking on Dean Winchester's door.

Dean opens it up around the second knock, his smile wide and he pushes it back, "Hey Cas."

"Hello, Dean."

The writer walks in, and you can imagine how floored he is. No- it's not because the apartment is beautiful, which it is- no, it's from how Dean changed it from yesterday. The lights are a warm, soft yellow, making the room glow as though it was lit with candles. There's two bottles of beer on the coffee table now, and two plates of well-cooked pasta. As if Castiel's body had a mind of it's own, his stomach growls at the sight.

"Oh- sorry…" Castiel blushes.

"No-" Dean laughs, shutting the door, "it's completely fine. Take a seat, the bread's just about done."

So Castiel does as Dean tells him, walking into the living room once again but stopping before he sits on the couch. It's the view that gets him to stop in his tracks. Now that the sun is going below the horizon, the lights of New York are beginning to shimmer, dancing like the very few stars that can make it out even on the clearest of nights. Castiel walks forward, a little cautious because it's a forty-floor drop if that glass cracks- so he goes as close as he's comfortable with. A smile appears on his face as he looks towards the city bustling below him- and for the first time in a while- Castiel remembers why he fell in love with this place.

"I know… It's beautiful." Dean's voice comes from behind him, and Castiel jumps.

Dean chuckles but walks up beside him, "Didn't mean to scare you, Cas… Anyways, it's pretty- like a small version of a night sky from the ground in some human way. I like it- but I prefer real stars if I'm honest."

"Really?"

Dean smiles as he sees Castiel tilt his head in confusion, "Yes, really. New York's fine, an okay city full of people with big dreams and high hopes. But some nights when I'm up here I realize how alone I am in this apartment. It's too large for one person, and this view- well it kinda makes you feel small, doesn't it? It's a big city I know, I also am aware that I can walk outside and be surrounded by people- but that doesn't mean I enjoy it. I miss privacy, I miss just going outside and knowing I can look up and not see buildings towering over me. It makes me miss Lawrence sometimes."

Castiel is quiet, not only because Dean is opening up to him, but because Dean is actually acting like a person- he's telling Castiel about how he feels and how New York isn't his perfect choice of exact living- and it hits home. Because that's exactly how Castiel feels.

"I understand," he looks towards Dean for a moment and back down to the city below, "I used to be entranced by this place. I dreamed about it when I was little and I thought that if I made it here everything would just- click. Now I've been here for half a decade and I still have the same shit job and apartment to boot, and I just don't feel the same anymore about this place. I don't feel like I'm in some type of movie where the underdog becomes a hero, or the person who gets the happy ending- I'm just average. Maybe it's a little depressing to think so- but in a city full of so many people aiming for the same thing- that's what you become. Normal."

Dean is about to reply when the oven dings in the kitchen, and he apologizes and goes to get it. It leaves Castiel some time to process what has just happened and all that was said. Did Dean Winchester really just listen to him talk about how he felt? He bites his lip as he hears plates being set on the coffee table once again.

"Here we go!" Dean smiles widely, "All ready to eat! Made it myself, too!"

Castiel walked over, sitting down on the couch and chuckling, "I must tell you- acting may not be your only talent."

"I did work in a cafe, remember?"

"As a waiter."

"Ouch!" Dean laughs, grabbing a fork and taking his seat beside Castiel. It nearly makes the writer swallow the delicious pasta wrong.

Dean pops the caps off of the beer and Castiel blurts out a question, "What is it you wanted to change with the interview?"

He looks over, quirking a brow and smiling, "Hmm… May I see the journal?"

Castiel nods, grabbing his bag and getting out his notebook and hands it over to Dean. He opens it on his lap, the pages open to Castiel's view as he skims over the questions and answers. He begins to turn the page when he realizes the top corner he'd written his number on is missing, and Castiel thinks for a millisecond he smiles. The writer watches as he keeps reading and finishes.

"I don't see anything that needs changing."

Castiel's stomach drops. Why was he here then? Dean said the interview was good enough- and just when Castiel thought maybe, just maybe, for once second Dean was actually talking to him- he squashes it like a damn bug. He finds the next forkful of pasta hard to swallow.

"What else in your bag, Cas?"

The question catches the writer off guard, but he pulls up his bag anyways, "Nothing much."

Dean looks through it, finding a sketch journal and setting it aside. He finds pictures of Misty and he smiles widely and asks about her. It makes Castiel feel a little awkward, to explain to a celebrity about how fucked up his cat is back at his shit apartment- but hey, life doesn't make sense. It's after he finds a few more trinkets he returns to the drawing journal.

"What's this?"

"Nothing much- just a book I carry around and draw in… It's not anything, just doodles…"

As Dean opens it, his eyes go wide at the drawing of one of Castiel's co-workers. It had been a long meeting, and Castiel was bored. She was done in charcoal, her hair in a bun and her suit a little ruffled, her cuff having the hint of a past coffee stain. Castiel remembered her, recalled her name was Joan and she was just a newbie like he was.

"This is-" Dean smiles, "shit, Cas."

Castiel smiles, "You like it?"

"I love it!"

Dean keeps flipping through and smiling at Castiel's drawings. It's nice, because Castiel is really enjoying the constant grin plastered on the man's face beside him. And for once, the room doesn't feel as suffocating, doesn't feel as scary as when he first walked in. Dean sets the journal and other things back into the bag and zips it up.

"You should become an artist."

"And you should become a cook."

Dean laughs, "Totally should… What do you really want to do, Cas?"

The writer still can't process the nickname fully, but he goes on, "I want to be CEO of my magazine. Or at least- that's what I've been telling myself since I got there."

"But that's not what you want- …" Dean tilts his head a little, expression and gaze softening, "right?"

"I- I don't know." Castiel looks away, biting his chapped bottom lip.

Dean shuffles a little closer, and Castiel has to convince himself not to hyperventilate, "Well someone once told me you just have to figure out what you're good at in life, and never do it for free."

"Did you just quote the Joker from Batman?" Castiel laughs.

Dean shrugs, "Okay- maybe I did… But that doesn't matter does it? Funny, an insane man's words make more sense than most people who are mentally stable."

"I suppose it is…" Castiel smirks, "I think that's the whole point."

Dean smiles back, his green eyes alight and Castiel sighs. The pasta is settling in his stomach and so is the beer he's been drinking. It's only when the TV clicks on that he snaps back to reality.

"What do you want to watch?"

Castiel looks towards the screen, "How about The Breakfast Club?"

"Not bad, though I've never seen it before."

"You've never seen The Breakfast Club?" Castiel scoffs, "That's like- the too-see movie in America, among countless others!"

Dean smirks, "Well- I did tell you I grew up in a small town. We really didn't have cable or a video store there."

Castiel smirks as Dean starts the film, "It's high time we change that."

It's about thirty minutes into the movie and Castiel is a little disappointed. Not only that Dean seems to have lost enough interest in him he needs to resort to a movie to pass the time, but because Dean isn't paying the slightest attention to him anymore. It's like Castiel doesn't exist, like he's not even there. He's not even listening to what's being said on screen as he just stares at the blurred movement in front of him. He's about to tell Dean he's got to go- that there's an article he has to tend to before he works tomorrow- when Dean places his arm behind Castiel's head.

Mentally, Castiel is screaming, his eyes keep darting to the limb placed over his shoulder so calmly and nonchalantly. His heart is stammering and he swears that the movie is on silent because he can't even hear it anymore as they run through the hallways. Physically however, he's just still.

Maybe Dean really did forget he was there- that maybe Castiel was part of the couch and not a human being breathing and existing right alongside him. His mouth is dry, so he moves forward to grab his beer- and when his back returns to the sofa, Dean's arm is gone. He can't stop the wave of disappointment he feels towards the loss.

Soon, the movie ends, Castiel gathering his things and going to the door. Dean is smiling, guiding him to there and opening it for him.

"Thanks, Dean. The food was delicious and I had a really good time." He puts on a mostly fake smile, because he's still crushed from earlier, but he's still genuine about it.

"No problem," Dean begins to shut the door but stops himself, "you can come over whenever you like, Cas."

And he closes it again.

Castiel makes his way home, city bustling around him. He decides that walking home is better, and he listens to his feet hit the pavement as he keep walking towards his apartment. Castiel's stomach is still churning, opening the door and picking up Misty.

"I shouldn't let my hopes get up, Misty," he says solemnly, "I really shouldn't."