Chapter Text
Dean grunts as he sets the last of his boxes of things down on his bed in the new apartment. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, squinting out the window. Fucking hundred-degree summers and no goddamn air conditioning.
“Oh,” a voice says behind him, and Dean turns a raised eyebrow on his roommate. Cas grins, carrying in the rest of his boxes. “I didn’t know room and board included free strip shows.”
Dean barks out a laugh, dropping his shirt. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’ll start charging your ass if this heat wave keeps up.”
Cas smirks at him as he sets his stuff down, wiping sweat from his own forehead and winking. “It’ll be worth it.”
Dean bites his lip on a grin, turning away so his friend won’t see how red his face undoubtedly is. Cas has always been a big flirt, easily charming with a mischievous innocence that naturally draws people in, and Dean is no exception. They’d met at a carnival, of all things: Dean had been working the ring toss for the summer as a little bit of income, and this little blue-eyed minx had stepped up, sliding Dean his money for three tosses.
“What are my prizes?” he’d asked, smile sweet and eyes wide.
Dean had forcibly had to stop himself from telling him A date with me. Instead, he gestured where the bottles were set up. “The red ones get you a small figure, the green get you a small plush, and blue get you one of the large plushes.”
Blue eyes blinked at him, sparkling in the noonday sun, and he took the rings. Dean stepped back and crossed his arms, watching as Blue Eyes calculated the best angle to throw and then let loose. His first ring bounced off the green bottles towards the back, settling between a green and red. The second settled between two blue bottles. Clicking his tongue, he picked up the third ring with a determined glint in his eye, and Dean watched in amusement as he licked his lips, tilting his head this way and that before curling his arm and tossing the ring with a flick of his wrist.
It landed around a blue bottle in the dead center, ringing against the glass.
The smug grin Dean was given made his heart skip a beat and his dick jump beneath his zipper, and he was never so grateful for the rickety stand he spent his summer days behind.
Pulling his thoughts back to the present, Dean looks over at Cas as he pulls out the things from his box, including a palm-sized bee plush. The colors are faded from constant handling, one of the wings threadbare, and the antennae drooping from the stitching coming loose.
“Oh, man, you still have that?” Dean walks over, Cas turning to face him with a soft grin.
“Of course I still have him,” Cas says, holding him out to examine. “It was the first thing you ever gave me.”
Dean looks down shyly, fighting a smile and reaching up to gently squeeze the plush. “All I did was hand him over, you did the work to win him.”
“But you were the one to hand him over,” Cas insists with a laugh, looking down at the plush with fondness. “And imagine my surprise when, on my first day of junior year at a new school in a new town, the first person I see is the cute guy from the ring toss.”
Dean looks up at Cas from under his lashes, corner of his mouth turning up. “You think I’m cute?”
Cas rolls his eyes, punching Dean on the shoulder and turning back to his box. “Don’t pretend you don’t know you’re adorable, Dean Winchester. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Dean laughs, feeling giddy, and turns to go unpack his own boxes. They unpack quietly, talking about their last year of college and how they're excited to finally be finishing up. The rest of their day is spent setting up their new apartment, getting comfortable and settled in. It’s late evening when Dean gets to his last box, full of clothes his mom folded and packed away for him to go through. Most of it is winter stuff, sweaters and hoodies that he almost doesn’t even want to handle because just looking at them makes him sweat bullets. He gives each one a once over anyway, setting the ones he thinks he’ll wear in one pile and the stuff that’s too small or has too many holes in it in another, making a mental note to put them in a bag to take to Goodwill or throw out.
He’s looking over an old sweater, a knitted blue number that he’s pretty sure Mom gave him for Christmas one year that he never actually wore and probably can’t now, when a hand reaches out for it from over his shoulder, slender fingers running over the fabric. He looks up at Cas.
“I don’t remember this one,” Cas says, fingering the material.
Dean shrugs. “I don’t think I ever wore it.” He holds it up to his chest, looking down at himself. The arms just barely come to his wrists. “I think it was a Christmas gift.”
Cas chuckles, running his hand over it. “It’s very soft,” he comments. “I love sweaters.”
Dean knows this well, and he watches his best friend and crush of nearly five years now run his hands over the sweater, secretly enjoying Cas’ hands on his chest, before holding the sweater in front of him, seeing how it might fit him. Cas is a lot more slender than Dean, with wiry limbs that belie his strength, and Dean’s pretty sure it’ll fit him perfectly. He also doesn’t miss that the color of the sweater matches Cas’ eyes exactly. With a decisive hum, he pushes it towards Cas. “Here. Happy early birthday.”
Cas looks up at him, surprised but pleased. He takes the sweater gently, hugging it to himself with a grateful smile. “Really?”
“It ain’t gonna fit me anymore,” Dean points out, rubbing the back of his neck. “And blue’s never been my color, anyway. It’ll be more at home on you once the weather’s chilled out.”
Cas happily looks over the sweater. “You think?”
“It brings out your eyes,” Dean blurts, apropos of nothing, and immediately bites his lip, looking away. Wow, that was sappy, what the fuck. He coughs awkwardly, pointedly ignoring the wide, shit-eating grin Cas is giving him.
“Oh, does it?” Cas teases, tilting his head to meet Dean’s eyes. “You spend a lot of time looking into my eyes?”
“Shut up,” Dean mumbles, but there’s no heat to it. He turns away, crossing his arms like a petulant child. “They’re really blue, okay? Not like you don’t know.”
“Dean.” Cas lays a gentle hand on his arm, and Dean reluctantly looks back at him. “It’s fine. Really. I like the thought of you looking at my eyes. Hell, just looking at me in general. I’m kinda vain like that.”
Dean laughs, dropping his arms and relaxing. Cas steps closer, pressing into his personal space, and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean sets his chin on Cas’ shoulder, arms loose around Cas’ waist, the sweater squished between them. Five years of flirting and pining, of will we won’t we, are we aren’t we – all of it just melts away from Dean, leavng him light and happy.
“For the record,” Cas says, breath warm against Dean’s neck, “I like looking at your eyes, too. And your freckles. And your lips. I look at those a lot.”
Dean’s cheeks are burning in embarrassment at Cas’ words, and he buries his face into Cas’ neck. “You’re weird,” he mumbles, lips brushing over soft skin. Cas hums in pleasure, and Dean’s pretty sure he feels lips against his temple.
“You love it.”
Dean pulls back, looking into those blue eyes that had caught him and held tight for five years. They’re still bright, still full of mischief and wonder, still so fucking blue. He smiles. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
Cas smiles back, and Dean thinks it fitting that his kiss tastes like sunlight.