I wish, as well as everybody else, to be perfectly happy; but, like everybody else, it must be in my own way.

JANE AUSTEN, Sense and Sensibility

"Where the hell were you?" was Ruby's first greeting when Castiel returned to the lobby. She gave him a strange scrutinizing look. "And why do you look so flustered?"

The bell on the receptionist desk dinged, as someone kept hitting it repeatedly and angrily. Then when a heavy gust of wind swept in through the whoosh of the front doors being pulled open, Castiel caught the familiar profile of the Prince just leaving a room where the paintings had been set up. And then Dean stopped.

It was instant and it was so dramatic. Because whilst everything around the lobby was hectic, the stillness settled between the two of them. As Dean slowly turned around, and without searching, he latched his gaze on Castiel, who was by then, seriously astonished as every second passed by; a full minute maybe. He couldn't ascertain the exactness.

But Castiel, in that moment, thought to himself that no one had ever looked at him the way Dean managed to deliver. And it was nothing short of astounding to witness the magnitude of interest piqued from the connection.

Then just after acknowledging him with a small lopsided smile, Dean winked and retreated down the hallway.

"Are you even listening to me?" Ruby's voice drifted towards his ears. "Hello!" she clicked her fingers in front of his face. "What's happening to you?"

"Nothing of import," he swallowed hard and avoided her eyes. The lobby was deserted, almost graveyard silent. "What did I miss?"

Ocean Eyes

Shaking her head, Ruby sighed and bent down to collect the bag resting on the ground. "Nothing really. Well, apart from me flirting with the receptionist and him rudely telling me that he's engaged to his partner Frank. And get this. It's hardly necessary for him to have shown me his ring when…"

Castiel could feel the square of tissue pulsating in his jeans pocket. Like a little, fierce living thing filled with so much life and spurring up many questions. Written by the golden pen of a man…a Prince as a matter of fact…who had sought out an introduction. Someone who held a completely high regard in the world; the Royal Family. And that particular individual had chosen him as an object of scrutiny.

"Good God! Reporters!"

He had no idea on earth what transpired in the next two minutes, except that himself and Ruby were snatched by the back of their jackets. Then deposited outside into the alleyway like two nasty scoundrels. And in the process, the right strap of Ruby's tank tore away leaving her to appear rather like a savage demon.

"I don't like to be harassed," Castiel complained in his low gravelly voice. "I avoid harassment at the expense of appearing like the professional I am."

"Which is why you get to write all the boring stories whilst the rest of us daring devils chase down the good ones," Ruby scowled at her tank and swore.

They then rejoined the diminished group of reporters outside once more. And Castiel was left alone to dwell on conflicting thoughts whilst his loyal companion sought out the interests of a rather intriguing looking man. The kind who was dressed like Sherlock Holmes, with the matching low voice and a wary eye.

Still sparing himself from the likes of becoming entangled in a crowd of gossiping people, he retreated to leaning against a lamppost. One of those very antique ones. The kind with a shade and a rather intricate looking box attached to the stem. That was set to ignite within the hour of 6 and that it did in just under two minutes.

It was advantageous for him as he quickly glanced around and slipped the square of tissue out of his pocket. Then holding his breath, Castiel studied the neat scrawl. Because penmanship was essential in the Royal Family. And Dean's handwriting didn't spare the beauty of a steady hand and purposeful message.

Scandalous was an understatement for what the Prince had done. Choosing to divulge his private number with a stranger. Someone he had met moments ago and obviously had gathered a rather finite judgment of character. But the boldness. The confidence in character. The effect of that gaze between them in the lobby was so direct and heavy.

Castiel was still trying to gather some kind of composure from the meeting that he lost himself for a moment. Because why was he holding the Prince's phone number between his fingers and what he should do with such valuable information?

Suddenly, the reporters in front of him sprang into action. Ruby, tugging away her hand from being kissed by the man in the long black trench coat, sprinted in his direction.

By then, he had tucked the tissue away and was back in reporter mode. Armed with his old fashioned yellow lined notepad and pen. Because it was very much a sophisticated look that boded well with his character. And then the two of them pushed their way, well Ruby mostly did like the tiger she was, to the front of the crowd in wake of protests peppering around them.

When the tall frame of the Duke of Sussex emerged from the lobby of the hotel, all hell broke loose. Even his companion, Castiel noticed, stared wide eyed at the lanky Prince who came down the steps dressed in a black tuxedo. And he was smiling.

He was also accompanied by the cause of Castiel's mini heart attack.

The sight of Dean awakened something inside of him that was not normal. Neither was it familiar. What Castiel felt when he studied the likes of the Prince was something that resembled an immoral attraction. Sinful, maybe. Perhaps misunderstood if he was chasing the notion of being completely delusional and fucked – possibly by whatever had been slipped into his coffee prior.

Because there was no way that he could be slightly inclined to believe that Dean was dashing and handsome. And his green eyes were beautiful. His light brown hair being caressed by the night wind was almost too picturesque. Something that caught Castiel's eyes and he held on to that moment as if it was the most precious part of the story.

But then all of the doubts were pushed onto the back burner when the questions began like rain.

"Prince Dean, will your brother's baby be named soon?"

"Will the Queen make an appearance at the Prime Minister's birthday celebration tomorrow?"

"Is Lady Eileen expecting a baby soon?"

Sam was beaming at the crowd as the atmosphere was peppered with numerous questions. Then shyly, he waved a hand and Ruby sighed against his shoulder.

What was wrong with her?

Was she experiencing some kind of a fainting spell?

"No comments at this moment, except that we would rather much like to thank Edith Pratt for displaying her wonderful collection of paintings in the Brighton Hotel," Sam said, rocking back on his heels and appearing quite contented. "Myself. And my brother," he glanced at Dean who was studying his shoes, "had the privilege of seeing the 'Scenes from the Crypt a very long time ago when our mother took us to Egypt. It has always been a favorite of mine. Um…" he glanced around. "Thank you."

"Prince Dean, are you prepared for the wedding?"

"Are you going to spend your honeymoon time in Europe as stated before?"

"Why are you not getting married in Saint Peters like your brothers?"

"You know," Dean stepped forward a bit and the questions died down immediately as cameras poked their way forward, hungry for scandalous footage. "I'm very much not in the mood right now to put on a show. But I…" his eyes met blue ones and the Prince's amusement died away instantaneously, "I will…perhaps…take one question." He seemed mesmerized, so much captivated that it took Ruby a few seconds to realize Dean's main focus was on no other than Castiel.

And when everyone else highlighted the cause of the Prince's delay in his next words, they stood there transfixed on what was occurring.

They were deeply confused, but not entirely affected, by Castiel who found that as much as he would have liked to act rather composed, he was falling apart. And his gaze could not be detached from the man who had pinpointed him once more as a source of interest. So, although he tried to swallow his surprise, he fell short of surprise.

"I'll take your question," Dean's voice softened a bit when he actually pointed at Castiel standing in front of the crowd of gawking reporters. "And yours only. The rest of you…" he made a rather bad attempt at laughing off his mockery, "can hang your hats up and call it a night."

For the stretch of a few seconds, everyone waited.

Sam was fully surprised by his brother's decision to separate one reporter from the crowd of people they both had grown familiar with. The newspaper agents from all around the UK like Penny and Billy from the BBC. Clarissa and Terry. And Terry was a rather trustworthy publisher from the Daily Mirror. They always answered questions from Terry first and foremost.

But now, his brother had focused the spotlight on a man who was obviously an American from his attire. The leather jacket and the wild hair. The funny graphic t-shirt. The owner of a pair of wide blue eyes…and he was entirely shocked as everyone else.

Who was this person?

Who had managed to soften his brother around the edges so much that his face took on a light flush and his eyes were sparkling?

Naturally, when this mysterious man refused to provide a question, the crowd of reporters groaned in protest. And Ruby, being the good Samaritan, she was, tugged Castiel down to her level and frantically whispered something in his ear.

Immediately he straightened up and cleared his throat. And the one thing Castiel remembered experiencing in that moment was nervousness. Quite unlike any other in his career. Because he never was afraid to ask questions. He had interviewed snobbish businessmen, and hammered sex offenders without remorse. But now, Dean's gaze locked on him was more than unnerving.

"Did you and…the Princess…Annalise," Castiel hated how gravelly his voice sounded, "…have a fall out of some kind? Can you tell us what happened?"

For a few seconds, the two of them just stared at each other.

Those green eyes that seemed calm in one instance suddenly flashed from a conflicting emotion. Then stepping back with clenched fists, the muscles in face twitched. And Sam appeared as if he was bracing himself for another display of his brother's public antics. But just as the storm washed over Dean's countenance, it faded.

"Look, I'm tired of being a pawn on a board," he said in a flat tone to the crowd of reporters who were recording everything, whether on their notepads or devices. "For once, I'd like to marry someone who I end up falling in love with. You know, the old-fashioned way. Someone I could suddenly meet and could feel something and it mattered."

Cameras flashed. Sam was holding his breath because it was almost as if he knew. He was certain where his brother's mind was wandering to. They had spent many years together, getting to know each other and they had become best friends.

And Castiel was losing his mind, whilst trying as best as he could to stay focused on his notepad. His scrawl was incomprehensible, even to himself and complete gibberish. But it was a coping mechanism. A kind of distraction. To seem like he wasn't unnerved by being favoritised by a member of the Royal family.

"The Princess has an equal amount of qualities that are rather attractive and memorable," Dean continued boldly although his brother nudged his arm. "But maybe I already have my mind set on what I find most ideal. Possibly," those green eyes found blue ones again and Dean didn't look away, "someone who possesses Ocean Eyes."

Without tearing his eyes away from Castiel, the Prince allowed himself to be captured by the flashes of cameras. The questions still followed. Many questions trying to pry the truth from him. Whether he was in love with someone else. Whether he could publicly announce his disengagement from the Princess.

But Dean answered no more questions. Instead, he had to be whisked away by his brother. The two of them briskly approached a black Bentley that was brought around by a staff of the Brighton Hotel. And then after climbing in the driver's seat, Sam and his brother drove away, leaving a wake of reporters chasing the vehicle and pounding the air with questions.

"How come you never told me that you're gay?" Ruby asked for the umpteenth time. A beer rested on the table between them.

They were in a bar called Southerns. Caramel colored seats with wide windows overlooking the bustle of London at 7:30pm. The smell of pizza, and burgers heavy in the air.

"I'm not," Castiel's blue eyes were distant. It appeared as if he was considering the street outside with some kind of intent. But he wasn't. He was still drowning in that afternoon's events.

"So how do you explain the whole gay thing that just happened?" Ruby pressed on, leaning over the table.

She almost…almost popped out her right breast. Castiel dully considered the wardrobe malfunction and didn't even seem impressed.

"You and the Prince had a moment."

"We didn't have a moment," Castiel sighed. "It wasn't. It couldn't be."

"Look, he's the kind of guy who loves to flaunt around his boldness, okay?" she resorted to sitting back with her arms folded. "If he sees something that he likes, he gets it. Last year alone, he bought two Audis and a Bentley. Then on his trip to France, he actually brought back a shitload of paintings that cost a million US dollars or more a piece."

"And your point is?"

Ruby stared at him in bewilderment. A red bus crawled by outside the window. "He wants you, Cassie Cas."

"Can you stop referring to me as such?" He rolled his eyes and collected the beer on the table.

Castiel couldn't believe the trail of their conversation. He should be in his room, sinking into the softness of the canopy bed. Possibly swallowing a few bottles of wine and trying to kill his mind.

"I like it," Ruby smiled and couldn't stop scrutinizing the changes on her friend's face. "It's cute. Just like you. And apparently Dean thinks you're cute too. Cute enough to want your body."

"He does not…" Castiel had enough. "Listen to me." He sat up and cleared his throat, appearing cross. "Whatever he said outside of the damn hotel has nothing to do with me. Nothing at all."

"So how do you explain his reference to your Ocean Eyes?"

"Plenty of people around here have blue eyes!" Castiel was getting worked up. His fists clenched and he didn't want to react. But the fury in his glare was convincing enough. "It doesn't mean that he was referring to me. And why would he? He's not even remotely interested in men. And neither am I."

Ruby kept on smiling, fingers laced on the table. Then she allowed a full minute of silence to settle between them. Enough to settle the flame in those pools of blue. Flames that reminded her of a passion in bed that she would love to sample. But evidently, her gut was now screaming that she probably would never be Castiel's type.

"He's been with loads of men actually. Five years ago, he had a fling with a painter from Ireland. Then two years before, there was talk about a man who was obsesessed with him. And 2008," she said softly after finishing her beer and calling for another. "He was caught with some Irish guy in a pub near Oxford. They were kissing. It was obvious that he wasn't drunk. Clearly the two of them had a thing."

"Unsubstantial," Castiel shook his head. "Nothing of that kind was floating around in the media and believe me, if it was, we would have known."

"That's because people were tipped off, paid lots of pounds to destroy whatever evidence they had."

"And how the hell would you know about this?" Castiel was getting frustrated now with the topic of their conversation. His irritation would lead to an abundance of sass. And the two of them would start fighting. "How the hell would you know if everyone was paid off to keep things off record?"

"Because I was on the inside."

"You screwed your way into the Royal Family? Wouldn't be a surprise. In fact, it's genius. I commend you on using whatever you can to chase a story. But don't for one second imagine that I would entertain the idea. I would never—"

"I was screwing his brother," Ruby shut him up, her eyes wide and shining. "Okay? Sam. The tall one. The cool one. And then he chose her. Eileen. Over me because I was obviously not who he wanted as a wife."

Castiel was so stunned, he softened up. Then he leaned back, blinked slowly and sympathized. Hating himself for being so snarky. Detesting how he had started to doubt himself so stupidly after what had happened between himself and the damn Prince. And in the process, he had forgotten that he needed to be a friend.

"I'm so sorry, Ruby," he said quietly.

"I mean, yeah I'm feisty and I want my own way most times," she continued, obviously wounded by the memories. "But he is the only guy who stayed after I showed him how broken I was inside. I could tell him anything about me. Even the bad parts. And he still loved me. It's like you. You get me. You really do and I don't have to hide anything from you."

"You never have to," Castiel tilted his head and smiled. "Even your breasts seem to think the same. One of them almost waved at me a few minutes ago."

"Dean though," she said in a friendly tone. "I get why he's into you. You're seriously drop dead gorgeous. You have a funny way of expressing yourself through your t-shirts. And you have a nice ass. Plus—"

"Ruby, can you stop?" Castiel was growing sour again.

"Okay, I'll stop. But just know this. There are many guys who have guy crushes. But please to god, don't fall for Dean. The Royal Family doesn't like people like us commoners ending up as one of them. And although he's fucking gorgeous, he has done some shitty things to hurt people. So, keep him at a distance."

"I would never ever fall in love with another man," Castiel said with pride, folding up his napkin. "There's nothing for you to worry about."

A stone's throw away at half past eight, and he was back in his hotel room. He had a bottle of merlot sitting on the polished oak table. And he was drinking from it, not from a glass.

Castiel hopped onto YouTube, debating whether he should listen to the song by Billie Eilish or not.

He wanted to flip a coin at one point. He even considered going to bed and trying to sleep away the tug of war going on inside his mind. About whether he should pursue the song or not. But then, his willpower was always tied to his stubborn streak.

"Here we go," he took a hefty swallow from the bottle before typing in the name of the song. Then bringing it up, Castiel settled into the chair, the laptop sitting comfortably on his thighs. And he braced himself for the lyrics.

But it only took the opening lines to captivate him. The boldness. The directness; referencing their first meeting and the way Dean had scrutinized him in the washroom. Had been gazing at him for a little more than five minutes before they talked to each other.

Burning cities

Napalm skies

Fifteen flares

And what about those pools of green that suddenly threatened to drown Castiel inside his own mind? The way Dean had locked eyes. Had done what many people never wanted to do. To engage someone like him in conversation. To find him interesting enough. Worthy of sparing a few minutes, trying to get to know him.

His mother used to replace fairytales with logics of life when he was younger. She oftentimes told him that he would grow up to be terribly boring. That his obsession with books and chasing his imagination would lead him into a life of nothing. A life that would restrict him from making anything of himself.

And then…

You're easy on the eyes

You are cute

Call or text me when you're free.

Billie Eilish's voice was soft like caresses on his heart. Her lyrics were haunting to him with so much depth. He was left to become too mesmerized.

I've never fallen from quite so high

Falling into your ocean eyes

Castiel quickly closed the laptop and pushed it onto the oak table. After collecting the bottle of wine, he sat back. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to evaporate the thoughts fighting inside his head. Trying to chase away the lyrics. Hating himself for even listening to the song because it was clearer now that Dean's intent had been substantial.

He had gone out of his way to somehow get a rise out of Castiel. He had thrown out his bait, whilst possessing dashing looks, honesty and those goddamn captivating eyes. And he had caught Castiel in a web of self-doubt. Someplace that he was afraid of all of a sudden. A place where he had never been before and now its harshness seemed sharp like the blade of a knife.

He had no idea why he was staring at the square of tissue between his fingers. Had no idea why he saved Dean's number in his cell as 'Prince'. And the more he thought about what was happening to him, a dull migraine crept up behind his temples like a fever. Trying to perhaps warn him that he was venturing into murky waters. And he needed to turn around and run.

Castiel turned on BBC after collecting another bottle of wine from the cabinet polished to a shine. Then he drifted towards the antique wooden clock resting on the mantle. Caressing it with his fingers, noting the intricate rounded design and the swinging pendulum. There was a painting on the wall in the living room. A painting depicting a fiery sunset. And for a while he became lost inside of it.

"It would seem like Prince Dean will not be marrying the Duchess of Emmerdale," he tore his eyes away from the scenic view. "Moments ago, at the opening of Edith Pratt's 'Scenes from the Crypt' at the Brighton Hotel in London, the Prince referenced no other than Billie Eilish's song 'Ocean Eyes'. And the singer had quite a fangirl moment as well after learning about it all."

"I am touched. Really," the television filled with the likeness of the woman he had seen on his laptop screen. She was dressed in a bright yellow jumper. "Of all people, I'm glad that the Duke of York finds my song that much appealing. I've been a fan of him as well. He's not afraid to be who wants to be. And that's something that we have in common."

Castiel fell asleep with the words of the song replaying in his mind. Whilst the city slept and Westfordshire Palace lit up. Whilst a ferry crept along the River Thames. Taxis slowed to a crawl at a stoplight and then carried on.

And he dreamed of nothing more than fire in the sky and Dean's smile. The way his entire face softened as the most beautiful smile reached those mesmerizing eyes. And in that moment, he seemed so young and filled with life.

Castiel rolled over at a half past seven the following morning. Groaning, he crawled towards the bathroom, took a shower and went down for breakfast instead of holing up in his room.

But coffee didn't seem to chase away the jetlag. His head felt heavy and stuffy. His joints ached like he was coming down with the flu. And the toast and eggs were pretty tasty but couldn't settle in his stomach.

On his way upstairs, he stole a copy of the newspapers rolled up and abandoned in the lobby. Then after reaching his room, he pushed open the doors leading out onto the small balcony.

Shaking the papers out, his eyes briefly studied the bleak weather in London before he scanned the front page. Then and only then did he let out a small gasp and almost fainted on the spot from the headlines.

"Christ!"

Prince falls for American reporter who has 'Ocean Eyes'.

Says he wants to marry for love.

The LGBT community welcomes the Duke of York as their ultimate mascot.

"Fuck," Castiel sank onto the chair as his heart flopped around like a fish. Because it wasn't just the headlines in bold that was damning enough.

Taking up more than half the front page was a colored photo of the most scandalous thing he had ever seen. Perhaps the one kind of occurrence that washed Castiel over in a chill of shock and anxiety.

Someone had managed to capture the very moment when he had locked eyes with Dean outside the Brighton Hotel last evening. When the Prince had stayed a few seconds after commenting on Castiel's eyes. And Dean had gazed at him so deeply, he had been unnerved by the depth of what he had seen in those green eyes.

Now, there they were. On the front page. In a newspaper that was by then, in the hands of more than a handful of Londoners. And there was no way he could dull the shaky and overwhelmed state that had caught him in raptures.

If it was one thing Castiel loathed, was to become the main attraction out of something that was clearly against what he believed in. Something that was defaming and untrue.

He wasn't gay. Had never been. But why had he swallowed two bottles of wine the night prior after swimming in thoughts about Dean?

Why had he been questioning every single thing about the Prince's encounter with him in the washroom? And why the hell was he feeling like his heart was about to explode because of the magnitude of the headlines. When in fact, he should have felt angry and deceived?

Why was he caressing Dean's face in the photo with his eyes? And then his thumb?