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Castiel sighs. He’s forgotten the towel. Again. This is the third time this week. College life really isn’t something for him. Sharing shower rooms with others. Bringing your towel every time. Or well, not bringing your towel apparently.
He shuts off the shower and holds his breath for a minute, listening to hear if someone else is there. The only sound he hears is the dripping from the showerhead down onto the cold tiles by his feet, so he sneaks out of the shower, trying to shake as much water off as possible, before finding his boxers in the pile on the bench by the wall.
As he’s pulling them up over his knees he hears the door open, and he scrambles to put them on quicker, resulting in a very elegant slip and a surprised gasp from Castiel. He lands on his bare back, his boxers still halfway up his thighs. Castiel groans and feels tears stinging behind closed eyelids. Hurt and humiliated, great. And it’s not even 8 o’clock yet.
“Hey, dude, you okay?” a voice says from above, a worried voice. Castiel feels his face getting warmer as he opens his eyes and the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen stands above him, offering his hand in assistance. Castiel groans again, because of course it has to be an Adonis standing above him, playing the perfect gentleman, keeping his eyes trained on Castiel’s, never straying downwards. Or that could be because the man is probably straight. All the good ones always are.
The guy apparently takes Castiel’s groaning as a sign that he is not, in fact, okay, so he crouches down and rests one hand on Castiel’s shoulder. Oh perfect. He has nice hands. And when Castiel opens his eyes to meet the stranger’s, he gasps. His face is even better up close. His freckled face.
“How are you doing?” the guy asks, seemingly oblivious to Castiel’s reactions. So yes, probably straight. Castiel sits up and blushes furiously when he gets reminded once again that he’s completely naked, on the floor in the men’s shower room, with a gorgeous stranger trying to help him.
“’m fine,” he mutters and allows the man to help him up. He reaches down to pull up his boxers, and the guy averts his eyes again, looking intently into the shower cubicle. Yet another point for straight. Or he’s just polite.
“Thank you for- I mean- I need to go, I-” Castiel mumbles and gathers the rest of his clothes in a bundle, probably crushing his glasses in his hurry, but he can’t really care. He just needs to get away, get back to his room and sink through the floor there instead.
“No problem dude, I-“ the guy begins but Castiel is already out the door, releasing the breath he’d been holding when he hears the door to the showers slam behind him. He stops by the wall and leans against it, breathing heavily before moving back to his room, water still dripping.
Three hours later he’s sitting in one of the stranger lecture halls for today’s lecture on Shakespeare. The course is elective, and since Castiel is Castiel he couldn’t help himself. A whole course with only Shakespeare.
The Bard has been Castiel’s favourite since he was twelve, when his mother dragged her reluctant son to see A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Since then he’s been hooked. Half of his bookshelf is filled with Shakespeare and he’s been reading at least one sonnet every night the last few weeks, to help him calm down with the whole moving shebang.
His professor is an older Scottish man, Crowley, and if it hadn’t been for his knowledge on the subject Castiel would have dropped out after the first lecture. Something about Crowley makes him uneasy, and the looks the older man sends him puts him on edge. The professor had read, or well, recited really, ‘The Rape of Lucrece’ out loud during the last lecture, and the suggestive looks Castiel found himself on the receiving end of resulted in a restless night.
Now on the other hand, the professor stood up front, talking to a man who had his back turned to Castiel, so he let himself drift off a bit before the start of the actual lecture. He finds himself drawing a freckled face for the second time that morning and he sighs and pushes his glasses further up from where they’ve slipped down his nose. If only he could get a Shakespearean romance. Or well, not quite. They seem a bit rushed, not to say deadly. But some kind of romance then? Any kind works really.
“Hey,” a voice says. And no. He knows that voice. Of course the universe and God above would arrange it so that the very man he was just fantasizing about is standing in front of him, smiling at him. Of course his own Adonis would share his Shakespeare class. “Is this seat taken?”
“No, but-“
“Great,” the man says and sits down next to Castiel and reaches out his hand, “I’m Dean. You ran away this morning, I had no time to introduce myself.”
“My name is Castiel,” he mumbles and shakes Dean’s hand as he tries to cover his notebook with his other arm, but only succeeding in shoving it down on the floor between them. At least it lands face down; the last thing he needs is Dean seeing that he’s sitting in class, drawing his face.
His luck doesn’t hold when Dean bends down to pick it up for him and sees the drawing. For the second time this morning he wants nothing more than to sink through the floor.
“Damn, this is good,” Dean says and hands it back, an honest smile on his face when Castiel finally looks up. He mumbles a quiet ‘thank you’ and turns to face the front, Professor Crowley demanding attention.
“Today we are going to talk about love in Shakespeare’s works. And not Romeo and bloody Juliet, you’ve all heard that one,” Crowley begins and Castiel takes a deep breath. Yes, let’s talk about love. That’s what he wanted after all. This day couldn’t get any worse.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dean whispers, leaning in close, as Crowley continues. Castiel has to resist the urge to lean into Dean and whisper his answer in Dean’s ear. So instead he just nods.
“Good, because I was worried when you left, you seemed-“
“Oh how nice, two volunteers. Mr. Novak and Mr. Winchester at the back there, would you please come up front, and bring your copies of the Tempest with you?” Crowley almost yells and Castiel snaps his eyes up to meet the furious gaze of his professor. Splendid, now Dean got him into trouble in class as well.
He gets up from his seat and walks up to the front, clutching his tattered copy of Shakespeare’s last play to his chest, followed by Dean.
“Mr. Novak, you read as Miranda act one, scene two, starting at line 422 ‘I might call him…’ and Mr. Winchester, you read as Ferdinand same act, same scene, and if you’re somewhat clever you can figure out when it’s your line,” Crowley barks and stares at them, urging them to start.
“I don’t have a copy, professor,” Dean says and smiles ingratiatingly at Crowley who only rolls his eyes.
“Does anyone have a copy to lend to squirrel here?” he demands and a redheaded girl at the front tosses Dean her copy with a smile. Castiel’s brows furrows and even more so as Dean sends her a wink as a thanks.
“Sorry darling, engaged, and gay,” the girl says and shows off her left ring finger. Dean only laughs, but begins to flip through the pages quickly when he hears Crowley tapping his foot against the floor impatiently.
Castiel just stands there awkwardly and looks at Dean, finding it adorable when he bites his lip in concentration trying to find the right page.
“Mr. Novak, feel free to begin at any time. It’s not like we don’t have all day,” Crowley mutters. Castiel blushes and begins.
“I might call him
A thing divine, for nothing natural
I ever saw so noble,” Castiel reads and looks shyly up at Dean who only nods encouragingly.
“It goes on, I see,
As my soul prompts it. Spirit, fine spirit! I'll free thee
Within two days for this.” Crowley reads, probably smirking internally at the thought of being Prospero, magician and former Duke of Milan.
“Most sure, the goddess
On whom these airs attend! Vouchsafe my prayer
May know if you remain upon this island;
And that you will some good instruction give
How I may bear me here: my prime request,
Which I do last pronounce, is, O you wonder!
If you be maid or no?”
Dean reads with such feeling that Castiel is amazed. Dean doesn’t read, he acts. Castiel looks quickly back down to the page and continues, blushing as he reads his line.
“No wonder, sir;
But certainly a maid.”
“My language! heavens!
I am the best of them that speak this speech,
Were I but where 'tis spoken.”
“Thank you boys, we’ll stop there. Here you just saw their first meeting, and now if you can find act three, scene one, at the ‘I am in my condition…’. Same roles, Mr. Winchester, please begin when you see fit.”
“I am in my condition
A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king;
I would, not so!--and would no more endure
This wooden slavery than to suffer
The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak:
The very instant that I saw you, did
My heart fly to your service; there resides,
To make me slave to it; and for your sake
Am I this patient log--man.”
“Do you love me?” Castiel mumbles, looking down at his page, blushing furiously.
“No, you giraffe, read with some feeling. Miranda is very much in love. Act. It. Out.” Crowley barks before Dean can read Ferdinand’s answer.
Castiel takes a deep breath and looks up at Dean again, who’s still smiling at him. Or perhaps he’s Ferdinand smiling at his Miranda. Nonetheless, the smile is reassuring, so Castiel tries again.
“Do you love me?” he says again, looking into Dean’s eyes, smiling slightly at the wink Dean sends him.
“O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound
And crown what I profess with kind event
If I speak true! if hollowly, invert
What best is boded me to mischief! I
Beyond all limit of what else i' the world
Do love, prize, honour you,” Dean reads, barely looking at the page, seemingly acting more from memory than just reciting what’s written.
“I am a fool
To weep at what I am glad of.”
“Fair encounter
Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace
On that which breeds between 'em!” Crowley reads and Castiel almost sends him a glare for interrupting his and Dean’s moment. But then he remembers, it’s not their ‘moment’, they’re just reading Shakespeare. Nothing special.
Dean’s voice is soft, gentle, and Castiel remembers this morning, when Dean had asked him if he was okay.
“At mine unworthiness that dare not offer
What I desire to give, and much less take
What I shall die to want. But this is trifling;
And all the more it seeks to hide itself,
The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning!
And prompt me, plain and holy innocence!
I am your wife, if you will marry me;
If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow
You may deny me; but I'll be your servant,
Whether you will or no.”
“My mistress, dearest;
And I thus humble ever.”
Dean walks slowly forward until he’s standing right in front of Castiel as he reads, face open and honest.
“My husband, then?” Castiel almost whispers.
“Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e'er of freedom: here's my hand,” Dean says and goes down on one knee, but that’s just for show. Castiel can practically hear Crowley roll his eyes when the redhead at the front wolf whistles.
“Thank you boys, that will be fine for now. Please get up from the floor Mr. Winchester, and return to your seats.”
Castiel scrambles to sit down and he sinks into his chair, hoping this will all be forgotten soon. He takes out his notebook again to take notes, but he finds Dean’s eyes staring back at him from the page. He rips the page out and folds it, putting it on the desk so he won’t forget to throw it out later.
“There you had an example of another romance written by Shakespeare. Can someone tell me what differs between Romeo and Juliet and what we just saw?” Crowley says and almost stabs the board as he draws two columns.
A few hands are raised but not Castiel’s and not Dean’s.
“Nicely done there, Cas,” Dean mumbles next to him and he turns his head to look at Dean, but he finds the other man’s face much closer to his than he thought it’d be.
“You weren’t so bad yourself,” he whispers back just as the whole class giggles at something Ash said, probably something about what they just saw being genderbent.
He gets nothing but a chuckle in reply, so he turns back, although a bit reluctant, to actually try and take some notes for the remainder of the lecture. As far as Castiel can see Dean does the same.
When Crowley finishes Dean packs up his things, and stands awkwardly by the desk, as if he’s waiting for something. Castiel looks up at him questioningly and Dean smiles a shy smile.
“I- I was just wondering… If you’re not going to keep that,” he says and points at the folded drawing,” can I keep it?”
Castiel gapes and nods. He’s not sure why he nods, but Dean might as well keep it. It’s not like Castiel will have any use for it.
“Great! I, uhm, I have this for you, here,” Dean says and drops a note of his own on Castiel’s desk before putting the drawing in his bag and walking away.
Castiel picks up the note, torn off from a bigger sheet of paper, edges rough, and he reads:
“If you want to be my Miranda, you can check out my veranda. No I’m sorry, that was horrible, but I couldn’t come up with any Tempest-related pick-up lines. But if you’d like to have coffee that would be cool. Here’s my number: 785-555-0128. And PS: You’re cute when you blush!”
Castiel almost giggles through the rest of his classes and all the way back to his dorm, and when he’s finally back in his room he throws himself on his bed, smiling goofily at the note. He digs through his pocket to find his phone, and composes a quick text to Dean.
6.55 pm: Hello, Dean.
6.58 pm: Hi Cas. This is Castiel, right?
7.01 pm: Rest assured, this is indeed Castiel.
7.02 pm: Awesome. So coffee?
7.05 pm: I’d love to, when?
7.06 pm: Now? I’m living the same dorm as you.
7.10 pm: Oh, right. Yes sure. Meet you by the door in ten?
7.11 pm: See you soon.
7.12 pm: Can’t wait
Castiel smiles down at his phone as he shrugs out of his trench coat and suit. Coffee with Dean doesn’t require a suit, right? So he picks out one of his plainer knitted pullovers and puts it on over his white shirt. He loses the tie, it’s always backwards anyway, and straightens his glasses. He can’t do anything about his hair, but it doesn’t matter. He’s got the feeling Dean doesn’t care.
Three hours later Castiel has learnt that Dean moved into his dorm the day before (since his last roommate had very loud sex apparently), that he played Ferdinand in a summer production of the Tempest last summer (the reason he knew all the lines so well) and that he takes his coffee black, no sugar.
He has also learnt that Dean loves his car, his brother, film noire and that he’s scared of dogs. On top of all that he has learnt that Dean’s smile can light up a room, and that his laughter can make all Castiel’s troubles go away for a few minutes.
He’s also learnt that he hates it when Dean says ‘good night Cas’. He hates it when Dean leaves for his own room.
But the last thing, and most important thing, he’s learnt, is that Dean’s lips fit perfectly with his. Especially when Dean comes running back just as Castiel is about to unlock his door, and presses a gentle and soft kiss to his lips, running his hands through Castiel’s hair.
No, wait, the last thing he’s learnt is that he loves when Dean whispers a second good night and then presses a last kiss to his lips, before running back to his room, only to send him a text two minutes later.
10.26 pm: The very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly to your service.
10.28 pm: Night, Cas.