A/N: I sat in front of the computer more or less all day long, so I would feel quite terribly if I didn't write something. :P I just wanna say this one more time because I can I guess: I am actually quite enjoying this one and I sincerely hope you guys are too. Seriously this is one of the first WIP's I've had that I can write for and just feel great about. The format really drops a lot of pressure and makes writing for this nice and cathartic. ^^ BTW, if any of you have quotes you think I could use feel free to shoot them over. I'm a bit of a quote whore and I love input from readers- I'll be sure to mention you if I do end up using one of them too.
"The only things one can admire at length are those one admires without knowing why." –Jean Rostand
It has been the same thing every morning and evening for the last week, and for some reason Castiel does not question his new routine. Like clockwork, when the sun has begun to rise and the welcoming smell of the day's bread has permeated the air throughout the marketplace, he comes. Every day the boy with troubled eyes and questioning lips comes, and every day they share a look through the window. Cas has taken to waiting for him, making to look as though he is not idle by the window, but never actually able to concentrate on anything but the promise of seeing him again. Seeing the protective arm he so carelessly sling around the other boy, seeing the eager strut of his steps as he approaches, seeing the way his face changes when their eyes meet.
Often times he finds himself thinking on how they might meet, become friends, become more, but he keeps those locked tight away inside his mind. Besides, he would hardly think they could be more than passing eccentricities in each other's lives- meant to connect through that window and nothing more. Always destined to be a 'what if'. It was clear he was of a working class by his dress- tweed cap, plaid knickerbockers, collared shirts worn and turned grey with age, all covered with a fine layer of grime. It made Cas feel stuffy in his own clothing and not for the first time he wondered how he would have fared being born into a poorer family. He watches until he can see the boy no longer, chin resting in his hand, thoughts wistful and far away from the watch shop as ever.