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The leaves were shifting, trembling in the wind, an appeasing pattern to their dance. The calm and contentment sensations that were flowing through his veins were strong enough to make his breathing stutter. He always felt that way on the brink of autumn, when summer heat dissolved smoothly into the occasional chill, when leaves started to crash and burn right in front of his eyes.
It was in the colors, the smells, the promise of home and heat and dusty books in front of a fireplace, that spicy scent of hot chocolate and oranges, the chai lattes clutched in hurried hands as students sprinted from the art building to modern literature to advanced physics to engineering to anthropology and so on. It was in the smell of his mother’s skin when she slid a fresh slice of homemade pie in front of him. It was in the way his father ruffled his hair before dragging him to mow the lawn. It was his baby brother climbing in the apple tree in front of the house and throwing ripe, plump fruit at him, hoping that Dean would eventually catch a few... or at least learn to duck better
It was just something that Dean couldn't put his finger on, something that made his blood flow just a little bit faster, that made him sigh and dream even more than he usually did, dream of creature comforts and hope of change, embracing the way nature swirled and matured all around him.
He breathed in deeply, almost tasting the crisp clean September air on the tip of his tongue. A lone coppery maple leaf caught his eye, twisting and twirling in the air, landing gracefully on one of the pages of his open book. It felt smooth to the touch and Dean slid it gently between the pages of the dog eared novel. He took another lungful of brisk air and turned his eyes back to the boy he was pretending not to stalk.
It wasn’t staking per se, at least Dean wasn’t intentionally stalking the other boy. It’s just that they always found themselves alone in the campus quad after the late afternoon classes. It’s been happening every day, almost since the semester started and Dean was a little intrigued of his partner in crime... that is if crime meant laying under a tree with a badass book in hand (in his case, because he had badass tastes no matter what his mom or room mate told him) or perching on top of a bench and feeding the badass pigeons (those damn birds were freaking terrifying, they had like claws of steel or something and yes, Dean was very much aware that he was a closeted pigeon-phobic)
The university had a very extensive and well kept yard, primly trimmed grass, old and wise oaks and maple trees scattered all around the place, providing shadow and solace to those that wanted it. Midday usually brought with it the bustle and commotion that came with most students having a free block between lectures, frazzled looking people, some still in the process of waking up, other vibrating with energy, but all of them had one thing in common. The noise. So much noise and chatter and laughing and screeching and even singing...
As much as he loved good company and a challenging conversation, Dean couldn’t stop from counting down the minutes until the next block of classes started and people would start going on their merry way, leaving the quad deserted once again. Those few peaceful moments when he didn’t have to tend the bar at the Roadhouse or prepare those fancy-impossible-to-pronounce drinks behind the Coffee Heaven counter or listen to his roommate scream at his friends over the importance of Starcraft I vs. Starcraft II, were very important to him. He came to appreciate them more and more over the past year - especially over the summer – when he had to pick a bucketload of shifts to come even close to paying his college loans, saving up for when school started again and he wouldn’t have as much time for work as before.
He has to admit though that those few quiet moments that he usually kept for himself are so much better now that he can share them with someone else. He likes this, likes it a lot... the reassuring smell of autumn leaves, the still hot coffee in his hand, the way Ayn Rand portrays the perfect spirit and most of all the soothing presence of the other student
The boy’s eyes are an unnatural shade of blue, far too intense for a human, his hair messy and unkempt. He shivers ever so often, like the breezy autumn chill took him by surprise as he sinks even more in his heavy sweater. Dean’s fingers twitch to take off his own scarf and wrap it around the boy’s neck. Every day feels like a fight to keep that instinct at bay.
The blue eyed boy never said a word to him in all the month they’ve been sharing the empty quad. Dean reads his book, sips from his coffee, stares high up into his favorite maple tree’s foliage and is acutely aware of every move and breath the other boy takes. He’s never been as attuned to anybody else in his life and it feels weird... not unsettling, just... sort of thrilling
For all of his womanising ways Dean can never find the courage to just say something to the guy. Sure, this comfortable silence they’re sharing is great and all, he likes the rustling of the trees as his only background and he’s sure that the guy appreciates the lack of noise and small talk just as much, he probably didn’t choose the company of birds and the occasional squirrel for nothing, but this is getting ridiculous. For more than a month they’ve been standing a few yards apart and haven’t even exchanged ’hello-s’ and that’s just all kinds of wrong
Dean grabs his messenger bag, book and paper cup in each hand and takes the dozen or so needed steps to the rusty old bench. There are plenty of freshly painted, new looking ones, but the disheveled blue-eyed boy always prefers perching on this one.
Dean gathers all the courage that hasn’t fled through his pores and drops his bag beside the bench’s foot, his body following soon after it touches ground.
The boy doesn’t show any sign of being disturbed by the new presence beside him but he doesn’t offer a friendly greeting either. Dean is aware though that he has his full attention, blue eyes gazing sideways, almost burning holes into Dean’s cheek.
„What are they saying?” Dean breaks the silence, somehow feeling that the other boy knows what he means. They both stare at the flock of pigeons pecking seeds and crumbs of the ground. A bushy tailed squirrel tries to act inconspicuous as she runs around gathering tiny armfuls of bread morsels
„Oh they say so much... Far too much to be able to retell their conversations. They’re all very talkative at this time of day” The boy doesn’t look at him but Dean notices the slight smile that colors his voice.
„Okay doctor Doolittle. That’s why you’re chatting up the pigeons? You want to learn all the good gossips?” Dean reaches inside his bag, from what he remembered he still had a small pack of leftover peanuts in there somewhere. He keeps rummaging blindly until, with a victory cry, he drags it out and takes a few pieces to crush between his fingers. He tosses them gently in the direction of the birds, trying to keep the shudder of fear hidden when the birds screech and take flight, only to settle down seconds later.
The other boy’s smile is encouraging, like he noticed the fright making Dean’s pulse stammer but is proud of him for not backing off. „No, actually I prefer their company because they’re good listeners”
„But you... you never talk to them...” Dean mentally facepalms, great, now the guy will know that Dean’s been watching him for weeks
„I don’t have to use words for them to know what I want to say...”
„Oh... I... I don’t know what to say to that...” Dean smiles, pleased of himself when easy laughter fills his ears. It’s short, gone as fast as it came, but it manages to make his stomach twist into knots nevertheless
The boy slides down from his high perch on top of the bench, gathering his knees to his chest in the corner closest to Dean. „Hello. My name is Castiel”
„Hi Cas, I’m Dean.” He calls out for that inner (and overly famous) smoothness, keeping his fingers crossed like the completely non-superstitious person that he is „So... hmmm.... Look, I was planning on grabbing another coffee before the next lecture. Do you intend to do more bird watching on this beautiful autumn afternoon or would you like to join me?”
Castiel seems to ponder the question for too many minutes and Dean can feel the beginning of cold dread biting at his insides. „Well, there is this little nest of sparrows right beside Coffee Heaven. You could feed them too... you know, if you’d like”
Dean tries to sweeten the deal with a warm and honest smile and the one that Castiel offers in return is almost blinding.
„Yes Dean, I would very much like that”