Work Text:
The first time Dean finds the strange man in the rumpled blue suit, he is passed out on a Malm frame setup, with the Karit bedding in turquoise, and Dean is a little irritated because while he understands that people like to test out the beds before they buy them, he had just made that one an hour or so prior, and it had taken forever to get the wrinkles out of the comforter.
Damn airtight packaging.
The man had been embarrassed and apologetic when Dean woke him, but for all of his stammered apologies, Dean could only focus on how the turquoise of the Karit comforter made the bright blue of the stranger’s eyes shine.
He hoped the man didn’t notice the way he sucked in a sharp breath and needed a moment before asking if he could help the man find anything.
In retrospect, he realized it was more likely that the man didn’t notice at all, too fraught with his own embarrassment.
All in all, it ended with a funny story for Dean to tell his friends over a beer that weekend; it wasn’t often that working at Ikea gave fodder for funny work stories, after all.
The second time was face-down on the Hurdal bed – the one Dean had at home, for that matter – with the Indira spread in bright green. The man wasn’t in a suit this time, but jeans and a washed out grey t-shirt, and Dean was loathe to admit that he spent a good few seconds inspecting the slope of the stranger’s ass before waking him.
“I personally like white linens on the blonde wood frames like this, but the green is working for you,” Dean said, startling the man awake.
He rubbed his eyes and blinked, standing up and flushing bright red.
“Oh god, not again…” he muttered, and hurried off before Dean could get another word in.
Next was the Brimes, with the black and white check Backvial bedspread. Dean liked the aesthetic of this one – the white frame with the black and white bedding – but he’d never been a fan of bedframes without headboards.
He liked to have something to grab onto now and again, when needed.
It was late morning by then, and given that it was a Tuesday on a particularly snowy day, the warehouse sized store wasn’t all that crowded. Dean had already put in notice, the university finally getting funding to give him a full time position in the robotics lab, so he figured he’d play this one by ear.
He sat down on the bed beside the sleeping man, who was curled up on his side this time, breaths coming slow and even. Dean couldn’t help himself; he let his mind and his eyes wander, taking in a good look at the man who’d been lingering at the back of his mind and sleeping in his display beds for a few weeks.
Dark hair gone messy from sleep, needing a shave, back in the rumpled suit from the first time Dean found him sound asleep on a display bed. Strong jaw, dimpled chin, plush lips. Probably a little older than Dean himself, but not by much. He sighed softly in his sleep now and again and cuddled against one of the Axag pillows, and it made Dean’s lips twitch with the ghost of a smile.
He didn’t look homeless, just careworn. Like he hadn’t slept, or had a good meal in a few days. But he wasn’t lacking in anything else, dark brown hair wild, a little too long, like he needed a cut and hadn’t found the time, but clean. Dean felt his fingers itch to run through it, and realized he must be really hard up if he was perving on a sleeping stranger who had made the bedroom department his own personal hotel.
“Hey,” Dean said softly. “Hey, buddy, c’mon. You gotta wake up.”
The man frowned in his sleep, worry lines on his forehead deepening with the gesture, but just as quickly disappearing as his skin smoothed out and he drifted further into his dreams.
Dean smiled a little without realizing it, watching a moment longer than he really should have, before reaching out to gently nudge the sleeping man at his shoulder.
“Rise and shine, man,” he said.
This time the sleeping man opened his eyes and blinked a few times, face gone passive and free of lines in the soft haze of first waking. Dean was struck by the sudden thought that this was something he wouldn’t mind seeing again, maybe in the privacy of his own home with the freedom of a long lazy Sunday morning. He smiled again in spite of himself at his own imaginings, finding an echo of that same smile returned by the sleeping stranger, before full wakefulness startled them both back to reality.
“Oh god, this again?” the stranger muttered, sitting up quickly and rubbing at his eyes but, for once, not turning tail and running away.
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, we gotta stop meeting like this,” he offered.
The stranger groaned, head in his hands. “This is extremely embarrassing,” he muttered.
“Hey, man, it’s okay,” Dean counseled. “Look, if you need a place to stay, I can get you the names of a few local shelters or something.”
The other man frowned, brow creasing in confusion. “Shelters? I don’t know what…?”
“Look, if it were up to me, I wouldn’t care,” Dean went on, trying to sound as sympathetic as he felt. He’d been there as a kid, family edging close to living out of their car during a few rough patches. He couldn’t begrudge the guy a soft bed in a safe place. “But most of the people workin’ here are kinda uptight, might try calling the cops or something.”
Realization seemed to dawn on the stranger. “Oh,” he said suddenly. “I can assure you that I’m not attempting to live out of this store, if that’s what you’re implying.”
Hands up in a placating gesture, Dean shook his head. “Not implyin’ anything, man, but… I mean, if you’re not trying to crash here, why do I keep findin’ you… you know, napping?”
“I’m not napping, I’m shopping!” the other man said, getting to his feet. “Or at least trying to!”
He seemed a little exasperated by the whole thing and his response was enough to force Dean to crack a smile; when their eyes met, Dean still seated on the bed and the stranger standing beside him, it was all either could do not to crack up entirely. Within a moment, both were chuckling, to the point that the stranger had to sit again to keep from doubling over.
It wasn’t the strangest day Dean had yet had working at the furniture retailer, but it was shaping up to be the most interesting.
“God, this is so embarrassing,” the man groaned, rubbing his face in his hands.
“Hey, believe me, it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve come across in this place,” Dean said, gingerly patting the other man on the back. “But if you’re just shopping, what’s with the Goldilocks routine?”
“It’s tax season,” the man replied, as if that explained everything. Dean arched an eyebrow but said nothing, and the other man realized he would have to elaborate. “I’m an accountant with Pickman & Ross. I’ve been working overtime for going on two months. This is my only time off during the week and I desperately need a new bed. I’ve had the same bedframe since I got my first apartment and my mattress has a big hole in the middle from my nephews jumping up and down on it whenever I babysit.”
Dean couldn’t help but snort, and that started them both laughing all over again. Something about it felt good and light, the deep and cleansing sort of chuckling that only happens once in a blue moon, tears slipping from their eyes as they clutched at their sides and let loose peals of laughter that seemed loud enough to shake the rafters in the huge warehouse store.
With his laughter, Dean felt an overwhelming weight lift from his shoulders, one that he hadn’t even realized was there. To laugh, to bring mirth to this place that had, if he was honest with himself, been a source of aggravation for longer than he cared to admit, was freeing somehow. There was a small part of him that had been hesitant to leave, the part that spoke with his father’s voice and intoned on the foolishness of leaving behind a good job, honest hard work, for something so precarious as a university position that would require regular updates in funding.
Maybe it was just the silliness of the situation that brought to light the silliness of what he had long been feeling, but had been unable to give solid voice.
Dean felt light. He felt good.
And he realized quite suddenly that he was sitting on a bed, very near to a man who, until moments ago, he had ogling quite blatantly in his sleep.
“I’m Dean,” he said, holding out a hand for the man to shake and feeling silly doing it; the plastic name tag pinned to the gaudy yellow work-shirt said his name, after all, and it couldn’t have escaped the stranger’s notice. But it felt right to do it this way, to introduce himself as he would at any other chance meeting.
The man smiled, a small close-lipped smile that still managed to set his eyes alight in a way Dean had to admit he had been hoping to see.
He took Dean’s hand in his own and gave it a squeeze. “Castiel,” he replied.
Dean nodded. “So, uh, Cas,” he said. “Wanna hope the escalator up to the café? I’ll buy you a cup a coffee, see if we can keep you awake long enough to find a bed you like.”
Castiel smiled again, a little broader this time. “I would like that,” he admitted. “But won’t you get in trouble?” he added, gesturing towards Dean’s work badge.
Looking down at his garish yellow shirt, Dean shrugged. With one hand he pulled it over his head and tossed it over his shoulder, along with his name badge, glad that he always wore one of his own t-shirts underneath.
“I don’t even really work here anymore anyway,” he said with a shrug, and Castiel smiled.
In the end, Castiel decided he liked the Hurdal frame best, but only after some intensive testing at Dean’s place; as it happened, he ended up not needing to buy a new bed after all, and just decided to share the one Dean already had.
Dean did have to cave and buy the turquoise bedding; he found he loved the way it made Castiel’s eyes look when he first woke in the morning.