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They move in together after six months of dating. It’s a nice little apartment on the east side of town that fits them both comfortably and offers a convenient bit of privacy.
“Can you believe it’s ours?” Dean asks, grin wide and eyes bright as they glance around the apartment. The carpets have been freshly shampooed and everything looks stark, empty, but not barren, more… waiting. Ready to be filled with their memories.
“Technically it isn’t ours,” Castiel corrects, “we’re just renting.”
Dean bumps Cas’ shoulder. “Way to ruin the moment, babe.” But his tone is light.
Castiel turns to him, offers him one of those rare smiles that make Dean feel a little like he’s floating on a gigantic puffy cloud, and Dean draws him in for a kiss.
“First day of the rest of our lives,” Castiel mutters resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.
Dean slings an arm around Cas’ waist. “Yeah,” he says, “pretty awesome.”
~
They dig through their boxes and put them all in the rooms where they belong - pots and pans in the kitchen, sheets and hangers in the bedroom - then they order Chinese and begin to unpack.
It’s a strange dance they do, mixing their things together until very little of it can be distinguished as Dean’s or Cas’s, most all of it just becoming Dean and Cas’s, and a lot of their time is taken up by stolen smiles and first everythings in each room of their first apartment.
“Dean, we already had our first kiss in the kitchen we don’t-” Dean pulls Cas close anyway, hooking his chin over the other man’s shoulder and wrapping arms tight around Cas.
“First hug in the kitchen,” Dean explains, cheeky.
Castiel goes lax in Dean’s arms. “First I love you, too,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to Dean’s temple.
“Who, you or me?” Dean wonders.
The room falls silent for a beat before Castiel breathes the words into Dean’s ear. “I love you.”
Dean smiles against Cas’ neck and tries not to think about how blissfully in love he is, lest he get nothing done exploring other firsts with Cas…
“Why did you put the waffle maker in that cupboard?” Castiel asks, drawing Dean from a very colorful fantasy involving Cas’ tongue and their king sized bathtub. That’s a first he’s eager to experience.
“Hmmmm?” Dean asks, moving to peer into the cabinet in question.
“The waffle maker,” Castiel repeats, “why is it there?”
Dean frowns. “Why wouldn’t it be there?” he wonders.
“Because it should be there.” Castiel points across the kitchen to a different space, and no. Just no. If there’s one room in the house Dean’s particular about, it’s the kitchen. He could care less where towels are kept or what they do with the couch, but the kitchen is Dean’s space. It needs to be right.
“Babe, have you ever even used a kitchen?” Dean can’t help but ask, because from what he can tell from Cas’ last kitchen, it was solely where the microwave and fridge were housed. Where a waffle maker does or doesn’t go never seemed like the thing Cas would care about.
Cas’ eyes narrow and tension builds behind them. “I make coffee every morning, Dean.” His eyes flick to the coffee maker and from what Dean can see in the other man’s gaze, that’s in the wrong spot too.
Dean lets out a frustrated huff. “Coffee isn’t waffles, Cas,” he snaps back. “You know what I meant.”
Castiel’s returning glance is thunderous.
It’s a fucking waffle maker, Dean’s not even sure they know who’s it is, but eventually the argument about its placement results in Cas storming from the room and locking himself in the office, leaving Dean to stare at the half empty boxes in the kitchen and work out what the hell just happened. Except for he can’t because he has no idea.
It’s just a fucking waffle maker.
“First fight in the new apartment,” Dean grumbles as he drags another box across the floor and begins to empty its contents. Cas will probably tell him those things are in the wrong spot too, but at this point he doesn’t care.
Sometime later Cas wanders into the kitchen. Dean’s been through just about every emotion in the book, first anger, than hurt, and finally regret over ever arguing with Cas in the first place, and he’s been trying to find the courage to go in and apologize to Cas, but hasn’t quite been able to gather the words.
“I found these in one of your boxes,” Castiel says. He holds out a stack of photos, a white flag if Dean’s ever seen one, and Dean accepts them.
The top photo is from his first date with Cas. Sam had been there, Jess too, and she had snapped a picture of them from where she sat opposite them in the rundown diner they’d met up at. Dean’s arm is slung casually around Cas’ shoulders and Cas’ lips are quirked into an almost smile. It’s an awkward picture - it had been an awkward date - but it’s one of Dean’s favorites.
“Remember this?” Dean asks, holding it up.
Castiel smiles gently, nods. “You let me finish your pie. Sam pulled me aside just after that and told me you were in love with me even though we’d only just met. When I asked him how he knew, he told me you never let anyone finish your pie.”
Dean offers Castiel a dopey grin. “He was right,” he says. “I was in love with you. You walked into that diner and I was a goner.” He blinks an apology at Cas, pushes it through in his smile, and Castiel nods, accepting.
“What’s next?” He asks.
Dean pulls the next photo out of the stack. “Oh my God. Bowling.” He shows Castiel the picture, warmth flooding his chest at the memory held within the photo. “You were terrible!” He laughs.
Castiel frowns. “I had never bowled before.” He says defensively.
“I know, I know,” Dean replies, “you picked up on pool okay though.” He shoots Cas a wink and delights in the color that rises in the other man’s cheeks.
“I had an excellent teacher,” Castiel offers, and for a moment Dean’s taken back to that night, cozying up behind Cas, showing him how to shoot pool, and wondering how he could be so far in after only a week. He’s only fallen further since then.
After a few more photos they migrate to the couch, shuffling through the memories and taking moments to reminisce or exchange the details they remember. It’s only been six months, but looking at the photos feels a lot like falling in love with Cas all over again, and Dean’s reminded of what got them here, to this point; sharing an apartment, The first day of the rest of their lives.
“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean blurts, halfway through the stack of photos.
Castiel meets his eyes, his gaze remorseful and open. He puts his hands on either side of Dean’s face and drags him in for a kiss. “I’m sorry too.” He says against Dean’s lips.
Dean’s heart pounds wildly in his chest as he kisses back, love washing over him anew.
“Remember our first kiss?” Dean asks, mouth still close to Cas’, their foreheads pressed together.
“Front seat of your car,” Cas murmurs. “Third date. You asked me if it was okay.”
Dean smiles. “I was so nervous, I thought I was gonna puke,” he admits.
Castiel chuckles. “You looked it.”
“Hey, Cas.” Dean says after kissing him again.
“Yes, Dean.”
“We just had our first make up kiss, after our first fight, in our first apartment.”
Castiel’s mouth quirks into a smile, one Dean’s grateful to see. “You know what else we should have for the first time in our first apartment?” He asks, thumb brushing along Dean’s temple, sending a shiver down Dean’s spine.
“Hmmm.”
Castiel’s smile grows wide. “Waffles.”
And so they do.