Castiel strolled down the hall to his new room, where he'd been situated in for just under a week. He still wasn't quite as accustomed to it as he had been to the one he'd shared with his brother Gabriel, but still. It was small and cozy and it reminded him of his old room at home.

A girl stumbled out of the room across the hall from his. She appeared slightly… What word was he looking for? Discombobulated. A tag stuck out at the collar of her shirt; it was on backward, her skirt was askew. Who lived there? Castiel didn't know, but he really didn't know how to treat a lady.

"Excuse me," Castiel said to her, resting a hand on her arm. She looked up at him.

Smelled like sex.

Looked tired.

Sounded even worse as she rasped, "What's up?" Voice out from screams and moans.

She did look nice, though.

"Would you like me to get you a coffee? I'll pay," he offered.

Her hair, long and dark in a sloppy ponytail, bounced as she shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm okay." And she passed him and walked down the hall.

This wasn't the only time that happened. Practically every other night Castiel would see a girl exit that room, offer her coffee only to be rejected. Then he'd pause before opening his door, staring at the one across the hall and wondering what kind of sad man went through women so quickly and not caring about how they felt or how small it made him. Castiel wondered how insignificant that man saw himself to be and soon was overwhelmed in an ocean of sympathy.

People should never feel that alone, Castiel decided, entering his room and depositing his bag on his desk. And if they ever do, they shouldn't just go girl to girl until they don't. They should find someone they love. Or wait for someone they love to find them.

~•~•~

He found out who was in that room.

Castiel hadn't expected the man with the forests for eyes. Yet, there he stood, kissing that girl against the door. Castiel didn't mean to stare but he found himself doing so anyway.

The girl was very sexual throughout the kiss, running her hands along him and touching his ass and taking his hand and placing it on her breast. He just seemed lazy. His hands, placed on her hips, didn't do a thing. He didn't move much; just let her do the work. A few moments later he pushed her off and muttered, "Look, I'm tired." She looked a bit upset and irritated before walking away.

To Castiel, it looked dismal.

What a wretched way to live.

If that's what your life had become, why even try?

And that thought really got to him, and Castiel walked up to the man and grabbed his forearm. He winced, then glared at him.

Green eyes bleak.

Tone weary.

"What do you want?"

Realized who it was.

Relaxed a tad.

Castiel didn't let him go, but loosened his grip. "To know your name."

I have no idea what I'm doing. He thought. None whatsoever. What am I doing? I don't know him.

A beat of hesitation, then, "Dean. Dean Winchester," he told him. "You're Castiel, right?"

"Yes."

"Alright then." He opened his door. "Nice talking to you again, Castiel."

What am I doing? Castiel bit his lip and tugged Dean back. "Wait."

And then those eyes pierced his own again and he wanted to catch the breath as it leapt from his chest but couldn't. He was trapped, trapped and suddenly lost. Now what? What was he going to say? What could he say? What could he do? He couldn't think. Not with those jewels blazing at him, fires barely contained within his irises.

For a man who seemed so lazy only moments before, he really did know how to kiss.

Castiel was kissing Dean.

Dean was kissing Castiel.

How the hell did this happen?

Not that he didn't want to be kissing Dean. Hell, he hadn't even realized he'd been picturing, imagining these lush lips against his own, praying it would one day happen. Now it was. Dean's fingertips trailed up Castiel's spine, tangled in his dark, unruly hair, while his own hovered hesitantly on Dean's waist, under his worn leather jacket. Dean smelled like pine, pine and campfires. It was intoxicating, could probably get him higher than drugs. They should have stopped kissing, they should have nodded and gone about their daily business and forget this kiss even happened, but no. They just kept moving their lips, panting, sighing, wondering what the fuck was going on. Neither of them knew. What did it matter, though? Dean was lonely, Castiel was… well, Castiel didn't really know why he'd kissed Dean, but now they were, and what else really mattered apart from that, right now?

Dean was the first to really come to his senses, peeling his lips from Castiel's with wide eyes. Castiel scurried back a few steps, mumbling apologies. He was in the middle of saying, "I don't know what happened," when those tender lips gently silenced him.

Oh, how he longed to be hushed in the same way every day.

Every moment, preferably, but he could settle with every other.

No, what was he saying? This is Dean Winchester, the man who orders a tall black coffee every morning, the man who sleeps with almost every girl he meets, why would he ever settle for Castiel?

"You talk so much," Dean murmured. "If I'd known how much you talked, I wouldn't have let you kiss me the first time. I guess I can get used to it."

Castiel drew back. "Get used to it? Why would you get used to it?"

There was that eye roll again. "You're pretty damn slow for a pediatrics major," Dean grumbled. "You should come in, I'll show you."

A small smile. "No," Castiel said. "Dean, you're much better than that. If you want to, though, you can come in. I think there's a marathon of Star Trek on tonight."

"You watch Star Trek?"

"You don't?"