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It was all going just fine until Castiel got involved.

Well, for a given value of ‘fine’, anyway. If Dean was honest, social distancing wasn’t proving to be a picnic. At first he’d been sure he’d have no trouble – thought he’d have time to relisten to all his favourite albums, learn to cook brisket. First figure out what exactly brisket even was, actually, and then learn to cook it. With the world in such a state, and with so many things to worry about, Dean had thought that he’d at least be able to deal with being isolated.

Dean could really, really not deal at all with being isolated.

He was climbing up the walls by day three. There was something about only having himself for company, only his own face in the mirror to see and only himself to talk to, that seemed to flick some kind of switch in his brain. When he took his one piece of exercise a day, he made it a walk instead of a run so that he could go slowly and smile at people as he went. Him. Dean. Smiling at people on the street. Exchanging small talk about the weather with them.

It was only the fact that a whole lot of other people seemed to be doing it too that gave him any reassurance he wasn’t going completely soft.

By day five, he’d messaged Charlie so many times that she’d decided he needed some kind of project.

And that was how Castiel came into it.

Because Dean and Charlie had been due to move in together, had even put a deposit down on a place. It was there, ready for them. They just had to wait until isolation wasn’t so necessary to be able to move in. And so Charlie’s project for Dean was to figure out the interior decoration of their new place.

“I’ll suck at it,” he told her over the phone.

“Right,” Charlie said disbelievingly. “You think I haven’t noticed your tasteful curtains? The counterpane on your bed?”

“The hell is a counter-pain?”

“It’s the thing on your bed,” Charlie said, with more patience than Dean would’ve expected, which made him narrow his eyes. There was some part of this that he wasn’t going to like, and she hadn’t told him yet, and she was being nice so that he would be nice.

“Right. Well, anyway, yeah,” he said, deciding to agree now while the part he wouldn’t like still hadn’t come up, so the agreement to that part would be a separate issue. After all these years of knowing each other, Dean had his tactics. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. Consider our place’s design sorted.”

“Cool,” Charlie said quickly. “Cool, cool, cool. Um, so I’ll just let Castiel know, then, and you guys can –”

Dean, who had been walking from his kitchen to his living room, tripped over his rug. He grabbed the door frame to catch himself.

There was a moment of silence on the phone.

“Are you alive,” Charlie said after a second, tentatively.

“Castiel,” Dean said. “Castiel Novak?”

“Um. Yes?” Charlie said, trying to sound small and charming.

“Charlie, you’re kidding me.”

“I know,” Charlie said, drawing out the ‘o’ into a little understanding wail. “But after we graduated he went into interior design, and he’s so good at it, so back when I thought we’d be too busy to, you know, do the decorating ourselves after we moved in, I just sort of… spoke to him about it… and he said he’d do it for a really reduced rate, and scrap the consultation fee, so we’d basically just be paying market prices for whatever he chose, and…”

She kept rambling, filling up the space so that Dean couldn’t get an argumentative word in edgeways. He wasn’t sure he even had the words to be able to protest with, anyway. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and then looked down at his toe, which hadn’t enjoyed the trip on the rug.

“But you know I hate the guy,” Dean said when Charlie finally ran out of things to say. He’d meant it to sound jokey, but it came out just a bit too quiet.

There was a little rush of static down the phone as Charlie sighed.

“I know,” she said, in the gentlest tone of voice she had. “I know you do.”

“Can’t I just do it all, now that everything’s like it is?”

“It’s just… the deal he’s giving us is really good,” Charlie said, and he could hear the wretchedness in her tone.

“He can still do the deal?”

“Oh, yeah. His business is doing okay. You know what he’s like. He’s always got seven strategies for everything.”

“Right.” Dean bit out the word. He did know what Castiel was like. Or rather, he’d thought he did.

“But what with… everything… we won’t be able to afford any decent interior design if the deal with Castiel falls through. Which is, like… the least important problem in the whole world right now, maybe. But when this is over I want to live in a nice place with you, dude. Like we always said we would.”

Dean let out a breath.

“A special place of our own…” Charlie wheedled.

Ugh.

“In the centre of the city,” Dean said, after a second.

“With a kitchen island for you –”

“– and a gaming den for you –”

“– and a giant TV for both of us,” they finished together. They’d been wanting this since their first year of college. They’d worked so hard for it, to be able to live together and away from the pasts they’d struggled to leave behind.

Speaking of a past that Dean wanted to leave behind –

“But… Castiel Novak,” he said.

“Dude, listen. It’s going to be like, one Zoom call. Maybe two. Everything else you guys can do via email. And he’ll be completely professional, I’m like, one hundred percent sure.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Huh. Okay. So, you don’t think, just for example, just say, I don’t know…”

“Dean,” Charlie said, trying to head him off, but Dean was in full swing now.

“You don’t think he’ll, say, pretend to be really enjoying the job, and keep spending loads of time on the job, and definitely seem like he’s ready to start doing the job on a more permanent and exclusive basis, and then suddenly have a one-eighty and decide not to do the job at all?”

“Dean,” Charlie said again, and her tone of voice hovered between understanding and amusement.

Dean swallowed. He didn’t want to put any of it into words – how much it had really meant to him, what he’d felt growing between him and Castiel back in college. How happy it had made him when he’d thought that Castiel felt the same. And how much it had hurt when Castiel had blown him off for their first date, twice, to hang out with other friends.

“Listen,” Charlie said, “I swear. A couple Zoom calls, some emailing, that’s it.”

“Is he still…” Dean didn’t know how to phrase his question.

“Kind? Polite? Occasionally grumpy? Yeah. But he’s super not hot anymore, so.”

Dean made a sound of disbelief.

“When you’re emailing,” Charlie said, “you can just pretend it’s someone completely different, anyway, right? And I’ll help any way I can.”

Dean narrowed his eyes.

“Any way?” he said. “Fine. I’ll do it. But you have to be there.”

––––––––

Sitting in his lounge at noon the next day, Dean logged onto his Zoom, and started the meeting.

He’d insisted that he be the host. Castiel had apparently protested that he had a Zoom enterprise plan and he could host the call, but Dean got a business account through his work, and somehow it made him feel better to be the one arranging the time and starting things off.

He was calm.

He was in control.

He was going to talk to Castiel Novak about interior design.

And it was going to be fine. Years had passed since those days in college when Dean had felt so strongly for him. He was a different person now, and so was Castiel. This wasn’t going to be a big deal.

Someone logged into the meeting, and Dean’s heart skipped heavily, thudding hard and uneven in his chest. He squared his laptop on his coffee table, sat up, resisted the urge to look down at himself on the screen and check his hair –

“Hey, Dean,” Charlie said, and Dean breathed out.

He looked down at himself, and checked his hair.

Still fine. He looked fine. Just normal.

“Dean? Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” Dean said. “Sorry, hey.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Charlie’s picture on Dean’s screen was a little grainy, but he could see the half-grin, half-grimace on her face. “Look, I’ve been thinking, and it’s probably really unfair of me to just –”

“It’s fine,” Dean grunted, waving a hand. The last thing he needed was for Castiel to log onto the meeting right at the point when Charlie was reassuring him through this encounter with his years-old crush. “It’ll probably be good.”

“... Okay?” Charlie said, with the confusion of someone who was getting away with something much more easily than they’d expected.

“I get veto power over any weird crap you try to put into the design, though.”

“Like you wouldn’t assume you have that anyway,” Charlie said. Dean made a face, and then sent her an expletive via private message. “Charming,” Charlie said.

A third person joined the meeting.

Dean felt his heart rate soar. There was only one other person who had the invitation. This had to be him. Dean licked his lips, cleared his throat, brushed at his nose, shifted on his sofa, and then tried his best to sit still and look relaxed.

The picture flickered to life. There he was.

Castiel Novak, on Dean’s laptop screen. His hair was still unruly, and his narrow-eyed expression as he waited for the call to load was a familiar one. Familiar enough to make Dean’s chest ache.

“Hello?” Castiel said, and Dean was gone. He was gone. That low, rumbling voice was just the same as it had always been. If Dean had known how to breathe a second ago, he was now having trouble remembering exactly.

“Hi, Castiel,” Charlie said easily, as Dean typed out a quick salvo of messages to her.

>> fuck you he’s still exactly the same
>> he’s still hot
>> fuck this

“Dean, you can hear Castiel, can’t you?” Charlie said, her tone edged with an instruction. Be polite.

“Uh.” Dean looked at Castiel on his screen. He didn’t know why these words were so hard to say. When he spoke them, they came out far too soft. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel blinked. Some of the tension seemed to go out of his shoulders.

“Hello, Dean,” he replied.

Dean almost wanted to laugh. He almost wanted to leap through the screen to where Castiel was. He definitely wanted to shut his laptop and throw it out the nearest window.

He settled for ducking his head to hide the slight smile he couldn’t repress, and the hurt that he knew had to be showing in his eyes. How did this feel so good and so bad all at once?

“Okay,” Charlie said, her tone bracing. “Thanks for coming to the meeting, guys. Dean, you’re recording this so we’ve got a transcript for later, right?”

“Sure am,” Dean said.

“Castiel, you’re comfortable with that?”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

How could Castiel be sitting there? Just sitting there in front of his bookshelves, looking that good and talking and moving like a real person? Dean had spent so long after they’d stopped talking just thinking about Castiel, arguing with him in his mind, picturing what could have happened if things had gone better between them. If Dean hadn’t been wrong about the way that Castiel had felt.

But now Castiel was just there. Dean could yell at him, right now. He could ask him what had happened. He could demand to know if there had ever been a time when Castiel had wondered if there was something going on between them.

Or he could just sit back, and listen to Charlie and Castiel get started on talking about paint and sofas and styles of wooden flooring.

>> you’re not talking
>> say something

Dean read the messages from Charlie in the chat and blinked, and tried to focus on the conversation. Castiel was explaining the initial thoughts that he’d had about their place, and how they could use the space. Dean made an attempt at being able to interject with something relevant. Castiel’s voice sounded so good in his ears. Seriously, the guy could read the phone book and Dean would be on one knee. How had he forgotten the way that Castiel’s mouth moved when he spoke? The shape of his lips?

>> earth to dean, what is going on

When the new message from Charlie came through, Dean frowned. He’d tried to talk, but it wasn’t working. Instead, he typed out,

>> he’s just still the same

He hoped the message would be enough of an explanation. He saw Charlie glance towards the chat, and then launch into talking about her own thoughts on how they could repaint the exposed brick in the kitchen. Castiel nodded along seriously.

“And a kitchen island,” Dean blurted out. Charlie and Castiel both stopped talking. Charlie rolled her eyes, while Castiel’s mouth flicked upward in a smile.

“Ah, yes. The kitchen island. Of course. There are a few options for the shape…”

Of course, Dean repeated in his mind. Of course.

He typed out to Charlie,

>> I think he remembered I want a kitchen island?

Castiel kept going, mentioning a few websites that he thought Dean might like to look at and then sending them in the group chat for everyone to see. Dean nodded at them, and made filler noises as Castiel talked some more about different countertops.

Dean pressed his lips together hard for a second. It was messing him up that Castiel remembered something so small about him as the kitchen island thing. Who remembered that about someone they didn’t think was special? Someone they didn’t actually care much about?

>> Dean?

Charlie’s message was simple. He must be looking upset. Dean steeled his jaw, swallowed hard, and typed back,

>> just wish we’d’ve worked out.

On the screen, Charlie’s eyes narrowed into the briefest of winces. She replied to Castiel, giving Dean the space to be quiet.

The rest of the call was uneventful, because Charlie made it so. Castiel shared a couple of pictures with the two of them, and they both nodded enthusiastically. For half an hour, they talked about fabric colours and feature walls and where to put the TV.

Dean spent most of the time thinking about the kitchen island, and Castiel’s hair, and what it had felt like when Castiel had ditched him.

“Okay,” Charlie said eventually. “You’ve given us a lot to think about. Loads of great stuff, Castiel. Thanks so much.”

“My pleasure,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, thanks, Cas,” Dean said. Even those three words came out stilted and husky.

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said, and looked as though he were going to say something else, but then didn’t.

“Dean’ll send you the transcript, just so we’ve all got it for reference,” Charlie said. “Okay. I’m gonna sign off now. Bye, guys!”

“Bye,” Dean said, hurrying to end the meeting with a click, not wanting to be faced with even a second of screentime with just himself and Castiel. He tapped to ring off, just as Castiel said,

“Goodb-”

Dean stared at the screen for several seconds, in the sudden quiet of his lounge. He looked around the room, trying to find some solace in the familiarity of his own place and his things, find the ground under his feet again. That had been Castiel.

They’d talked. They’d actually spoken.

He’d still been so –

So Cas.

Dean gritted his teeth. He knew where that line of thought and feeling went – somewhere Castiel didn’t want to go. Somewhere that would leave Dean on the end of a phone in the middle of the street with a pit in his stomach and a reservation at the nicest restaurant in town that no one was going to keep.

He clicked across his screen, grabbing the transcript and firing it off in an email to Castiel. There. Done. Finished.

––––––––

Two days later, Dean got an email from Castiel, to schedule a Zoom meeting.

“I told you,” Dean growled at Charlie over the phone. “I wanted to be the one hosting.”

“I know,” Charlie said. “But look, he’s got it all figured out. Can we just go along with it?”

Dean closed his eyes. No, he wanted to shout. No. I want to feel like I have a handle on this, even if it’s just the tips of my fingers. No. I need this –

He ground his back teeth together, and lifted his chin even though no one could see him.

“He better have some great suggestions for storage,” he managed.

And so here they were, three days after the first Zoom call, with Dean being the one to open up an invitation to a meeting, this time. As the screen loaded, he took a gulp of the beer he’d put into a mug. It was eleven in the morning, and he needed it.

He needed it through the discussion about the bathroom surrounds.

He needed it through the debate over curtain colours.

He needed it every time Castiel pulled a thoughtful face, or smiled, or licked his lips – god. Then, Dean drank twice.

“If that’s all,” Castiel said, “I have another call in fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect,” Charlie said. “And Dean, you’d better check the transcript for this one. I could see you spacing out over there.”

Dean opened his mouth to defend himself, and then realised every defence he could make was something that he couldn’t say in front of Castiel, and closed his mouth again.

“Fine,” he said mutinously.

“Great. Bye, guys!”

Dean rang off without a word.

He went and ate some food to settle himself. Once he had an entire plate of pasta inside him, he felt slightly more able to go back to his laptop and open it up and check his email. Sure enough, there was the transcript in a message from Castiel.

With a roll of his eyes, Dean opened it. If he didn’t, Charlie would start making all kinds of decisions about their new place without him – and through all of this awkwardness, he still wanted to be able to have a say in the decoration of their apartment.

Hello, began the transcript. Good to see you again thank you for coming can you both hear me well…

Dean read on a little way. At one point, Charlie started talking at length about the pattern she wanted on the wall in her bedroom, some kind of stencilled effect; Dean almost skipped ahead, but stopped and frowned. Intercut with Charlie’s speech were some messages – messages from Castiel.

>> Dean looks good today.
>> Like he always does.

Dean felt a flush race from the top of his head to his toes, and then bounce back up. He read the messages over again, and then again, his eyes wide. Was – was this a mistake? Some kind of glitch? But the messages were right there, in black and white.

Castiel had thought that he… looked good?

As he stared at the screen, something caught his eye. Dean sat forward on his sofa, gripping his laptop as he scrolled down further. Another message.

>> I’ve missed him so much.

One hand raised involuntarily to cover Dean’s mouth for a second. How had he missed these messages when they came in? Dean read back over them once again, even more carefully, and felt a second rush of hot static go through him.

These weren’t messages to the group chat. These were private messages. Messages that Castiel had sent just to Charlie, during the call. Dean kept reading.

>> Ever since the last time we spoke, there hasn’t been one day that’s passed that I haven’t thought of him.

Dean swallowed hard. These – these weren’t casual messages, thrown into the conversation. These were – these were – Dean didn’t have the words for it. Were they true? Were they real? Surely not, how could they be?

>> Even when I’m not thinking about him, there’s always a part of me hoping he’ll call. And I hate phone calls. But I wouldn’t from him.

That was the last of them. Dean set down his laptop carefully on the end of the sofa. He could feel that his cheeks were bright red. His heart was racing. He was too – it was too much for him to be able to smile, or text Charlie, or even move.

What did he do now? Castiel had sent all those messages privately. Did that mean Dean had to pretend he’d never seen them? Dean grabbed suddenly for his laptop, pulled up a search browser and typed in Zoom call private messages printed transcript.

A few seconds of reading later, he set the laptop back down. His hands were shaking slightly. So, it was because Castiel was the host of the Zoom call that the transcript automatically put all his private messages in, as well as –

Dean stopped.

The transcript.

It printed out the host’s private messages.

This time, it had printed out Castiel’s messages. But last time –

Last time –

Dean dropped his head into his hands.

“No,” he said out loud.

He looked up, around his lounge. The lounge that had been the same after he’d seen Castiel again three days ago. The lounge that had been the same after Dean had seen Castiel’s private messages. And the lounge that was still the same, even now, when he realised Castiel had seen Dean’s.

What was it that he’d said? Something about Castiel being hot. And – Dean covered his face again.

“No. No. No,” he said. But he couldn’t make it untrue. Castiel had seen the message that Dean had sent to Charlie, wishing that things could have worked out between him and Cas.

The shame was like a punch to the gut. Castiel had been only too clear about his feelings in college, when he’d taken care to escape both the dates that they’d set up.

Except… except Castiel had read those messages, and he’d – Dean stopped trying to suffocate himself with his own hands for a second. Castiel had read those messages, and he hadn’t run away. He hadn’t awkwardly ignored them. He hadn’t asked Dean to stop.

He’d responded in kind. He’d sent an answer, of a kind.

Dean grabbed for his phone, and pulled up his messenger. He scrambled to find his chat with Charlie.

<< Charlie?????

He hovered his thumbs over the screen. He couldn’t think of what else to say – but the response was immediate.

>> Call him
>> Trust me

She sent a phone number.

Dean stared down at it, his mouth slightly open. Was this happening? Was any of this real? Before he could wake up from the dream, he tapped the number on his phone screen and hit Call.

The phone buzzed in his ear, just once, and then the call was picked up.

“Dean?”

The single word was so heavy, so weighed down with feeling, that Dean took a second to be able to respond.

“Cas,” he said.

There was a moment of quiet. Dean didn’t know how to breathe again. He seemed to keep forgetting.

“Got your messages,” he managed.

“I got yours,” Castiel said.

His voice was so good to hear – so good. But Dean was twisting up inside.

“Look,” he said wretchedly, “Cas, you gotta just tell me. Has something changed for you? About… about us?”

“Changed?” Castiel said. “No. Nothing’s changed.”

It was a blow. It was the sudden dousing of a spark of hope. Dean felt his chest go hollow.

“Oh,” he heard himself say. “Oh. Right.”

“But… something’s changed for you,” Castiel said. “Hasn’t it?”

“For me?” Dean managed to say through his dry throat. “No, Cas.”

“... Oh.”

Dean wanted to hit something. This – what was happening? Castiel – he’d read Dean’s messages – he’d sent those messages back the same way – but now it turned out Castiel still felt the same as he had in college, he still didn’t want to date Dean. How could he? Surely when he’d sent those messages, he’d have known what Dean would think?

What he’d hope?

“Um,” Castiel said. “I thought this would… I don’t understand. When you sent those messages, I thought it meant that you… that you felt…” His voice trailed off.

“You know how I feel,” Dean said, and the anger was burning through in his tone of voice. “I don’t get why you’d send those messages, if you didn’t… you know… the same. Feel. The same.” Anger gave way to awkwardness as his sentence stumbled.

“I sent them because I thought – I thought you felt – I thought you’d want them,” Castiel said. “When I read yours, I wanted to reply the same way, I… I didn’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“You thought you’d save me from being embarrassed,” Dean said, “by making me think you liked me like that? When you don’t?”

“Liked you like what?” Castiel said, sounding startled over the phone. Dean made an actual grunt of frustration.

“Like… c’mon, Cas, really? Like that. Like, like like.”

“But I – I do,” Castiel said, so quietly that Dean barely heard it.

Dean’s chest seized.

“No,” he said. “No. You just said you still don’t feel that way.”

The hiss of static on the line was painful. But then –

“Dean, I’ve always felt this way.”

The noise Dean made was involuntary. He put his hand over his mouth again, just for a second, to try to catch it.

“You didn’t know?” Castiel said, and Dean knew him well enough to be able to picture the look of disbelief on his face. “But Dean, I… I thought you knew. I was so obvious.”

“Cas,” Dean said, “you ditched me for our first date. Twice.”

“What? You’ve never asked me out on a date.”

Dean’s mouth fell open.

“Are you kidding?” he said.

“Are you?”

“Cas, I asked you to meet me for dinner. I booked us a place. First time, you said you had to help someone with their homework. Second time, you said you got invited to go see a movie.”

“That – you – that was a date? No, I – I’d remember –”

“First time was right before midterms,” Dean said. “Second time was right after. You did homework with Meg, and then you went to a movie with Uriel.”

“Oh…” The penny seemed to drop. “But – no. That wasn’t a date, those weren’t dates – it was just going to be another group night… like we always had, with Charlie and Billie and everyone?”

“Group night? Cas, I booked us a fancy dinner, I was dressed up –”

“You didn’t tell me,” Castiel said.

“I invited you to dinner!”

“We were always asking each other to come over to eat together, and it was never a date,” Castiel said. “But – but it – but you – some of them were?”

Dean could feel his world crumbling. No – no, not his world. Just some parts of it. Just the spiky, painful, horrible part of it that had grown up twisted and aching because of Castiel ditching him.

“I thought you left me,” Dean said. “Twice.”

“I would never do that,” Castiel said. “You were the one who stopped talking to me.”

“I thought I had to be making you uncomfortable… trying to date you when you didn’t feel… but you would’ve – you would’ve said – yes?”

“If I’d known it was a date,” Castiel said, “I would have gone through Hell to get there.”

What could Dean say? All of these years of silence, all of the hurt, all of the worrying and thinking and arguing with a ghost, and the whole time Castiel would have said yes. He would have been there. He just hadn’t known. He tried to reach for words and nothing came. He tried to parse his own feelings but it was overwhelming.

“You didn’t say a word to me,” Castiel said. “You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”

Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He stared around the static sameness of his lounge as though anything he saw there could possibly have the answers.

“I was wrong,” Dean said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so – I’m sorry, Cas.”

Castiel breathed out, a huff of static down the line.

Maybe it was broken, Dean thought. Maybe even though – even though they both – even still – maybe they’d broken it too much to fix it now.

“I could have tried harder to talk to you,” Castiel said softly. “I thought you must have figured out how I felt and decided you were better off dumping me. I could have tried to talk to you about it.” There was a pause, and then he said, “I’m sorry, too. Sorry I let you go.”

“You really… you really feel…” Dean couldn’t even put it into words. “I mean, those messages…”

“I said I missed you,” Castiel said, in that perfect low rumbling voice.

“I missed you, too.” It was so much truth in so few words that Dean felt his own voice give. “Cas, I… fuck. Is it too late now? For this?”

Castiel took a moment to answer.

“I’m surprised every day,” he said, “that I still want you just as much as I did on the day we stopped talking. I kept waiting for it to fade. Waiting for myself to finally realise you weren’t coming back. But it was like it didn’t matter. Like the time passing didn’t matter. Like it couldn’t touch us.”

Dean couldn’t smile. He couldn’t do it. Now was the time, if there had ever been one, but it was too much, way too much.

“I get it,” he said. “I get it. I want you too.” It rose in him like a rush of heat. “I want you so much, Cas.”

“I’m here.” A pause. “You can have me.”

“Fuck… Cas, I… I…” The sensation was only just starting to feel like happiness, a happiness so huge that it was devastating.

“When this is over…”

“Come on a date with me,” Dean said. “Cas, date me.”

It was silent on the line. For a second, Dean’s certainty wavered.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Now.”

“What?”

“Now.”

“But – we can’t – nowhere’s open, we’re not allowed to –”

“Now,” Castiel said. “We’re on a date. Right now. This is it.”

Finally, finally, Dean managed to smile.

“Okay,” he said. “Now.”

––––––––

A week later, Charlie sent him a text.

>> Haven’t heard from you in an entire twenty-four hours. Did I do good finding you a project?

Dean, on a Zoom call with Castiel, grinned down at his phone.

You did fine, he typed. You did good.