The thing is, it's good. Creepy and sappy and mushy, but it's good. And Castiel has absolutely no idea what to do with it.

Once he finishes, in the wee hours of the morning with the sun rising and lighting up the shadows of his bedroom, it takes an hour for his mind to stop racing and actually let him fall asleep. When he wakes up, sometime mid-morning, the only thing he can think to do is read it again.

He skims over some bits and blushes through good parts over and over. Each time he reads the first kiss (and he's pushing on double digits here), he can actually feel the uncomfortable (but delicious) tightening of his chest and burst of butterflies in his stomach. Several times he's forced to put the papers down because, oh my god, Becky, give a guy a chance! He has to take a moment to re-compose and unfluster himself, to slow down so he can really savor it.

This story Becky's concocted, it's equal parts sweet and charming and mortifyingly lust-filled. The worst part? Castiel can't get enough.

It's not until mid-day, when he's sitting in his armchair, ensconced in fleece blankets with a cup of honeyed tea and dog-eared pages of On the A Line, that it hits him. He's spent Valentine's Day alone, in the Bee Mine pajama's his sister sent, reading widely inappropriate fanfiction staring himself and a practical (albeit cute) stranger...written by another stranger.

He can't decide if it's the weirdest or most pathetic Valentine's Day ever.