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He almost sees his reflection in the droplet of water hanging from the wire shower shelf. He tilts his head slowly to the left, something moved. To the right. It didn’t look like his head, though. Probably just the perspective of the room around me.
He leans back, concentrating. It won’t fall. Not enough surface tension?
A new draft chills him. He should get out of the shower. The water isn’t even on. An empty drip of a water droplet reputed this thought. A few ran down his arms and back.
He taps the wall of the shower and his drop drips. He feels he’s cheated himself for not waiting like he’d wanted, but standing naked in the shower has sobered him. This is stupid. I’m being stupid…
And he dives out of the shower, knocking his toes along the rim as he does. It doesn’t hurt but spikes a significant amount of terror in him. Very strange. He leaves his emotions in the bathroom so, instead of his mind, they can clog the bathroom air with the remaining shower steam. The bathroom left him feeling distracted by his own body. Most of his concentration was focused on his physical form there, which honestly made him feel too human and weak. He’ll find himself naked when he doesn’t want to think. I’d make a wonderful lover, maybe.
But as he sat on his bed, hiding his inky hair under a bath towel, he felt too naked. I am afraid. I’ve never had a best friend before. Should it be this frightening?
He thinks back a couple nights, to a low-lit bedroom that didn’t feel the same as this one. It looked bigger from the floor; specifically, crouched over the itchy rug. His fingers dug into his sternum like he wanted to tear his ribs from his body and pull out his bloody, beating glob of a heart. Castiel had cried many times before. He’d cried in front of a mirror, in the shower, between sheets, since he could remember. “Mom! I have a way I can fall asleep easier! I just think about sad things and I cry myself to sleep and it helps!”
Castiel cries. But never like he had that night, or morning, rather. Four a.m. He stayed up talking to his best friend, like usual. He was tired and had been getting very good sleep lately, had a plan to go to bed early so he could skip the caffeine headache and start his day happy. But he could never leave his friend alone at night. Not even if it didn’t bother his friend at all. No one wants to be alone.
But his friend was awake. Very awake and very hyper.
“LOL DUDE cHECk OUT tHiSS vINE”
“whyyy does that even exist???”
Castiel was very tired but attentive.
“soo tired. when do you go to bed??”
“if ur tired then sleep, and idk.”
“nahh i stay up till you sleep” Maybe it was my fault. Maybe he took that as a challenge. Maybe I offended him. Castiel won either way.
“im going to bed now my bro yelled at me. nighto”
“good night”
Once they ceased conversation, Castiel felt an emptiness within himself. It was dumb.Like a man who gave his entire being without any acknowledgement or form of gratitude. It was the mark of my worst act of greed. Like he was sucked into a black hole. The room was so still. The sky was just beginning to lighten…
So he had picked himself up from his comfortable bed and searched his hands for answers. They trembled, and held a mask he’d been wearing for a long time, but didn’t provide an explanation.
Tears came, and kept coming, and wouldn't stop. He wailed in anguish into his carpet and into the void of the morning sky like a dam was breaking within himself. One built about fifteen years ago. He was scared of this new emotion and the audacity of it. No one heard me. I felt betrayed and ignored. Is this what love is? Can friends love each other? Yes, of course, but do I have friends that love me? He’s never known but tries to love whoever is kind to him.
I’ve given my heart to everyone I’m afraid will break it because I want to be prepared when it happens again. Water rolls down the side of his face, presently. He runs his fingers over the fading scar on his stomach as he reminisces. No one will send me to therapy for emotional self-harm. This doesn’t count.
That morning I was selfish, which is what I expected. Everyone is selfish in love, regardless of how generous they are as ordinary people. He wanted Dean to himself, so he gave himself to Dean and expected him to do the same. It sobers me, and makes me wonder what true love is. This is the most care I’ve ever gotten by anyone.
But Dean is just a boy. He doesn’t think the way I do, although that is why he loves Dean in the first place. But Dean hurts in a different way, which makes me want to cry and shout at him; the issue is solvable. But that makes me a hypocrite, like many other cynics. So he grieves for Dean and carries the weight on his shoulders. But Dean doesn’t grieve for me, because his flaw tears me to pieces while he stays somewhat whole. Tears roll down Castiel’s wet cheeks, hot with emotion, unlike the cooling shower water. He grips his arm and tightens the towel around his waist. Dean ignores his issues, just buries them within himself. He doesn’t know how to cope. And I can’t help him. Castiel can find solace in the fact that this helps Dean quickly forget other people’s grievances and troubles. Castiel finds solace in a lot of things, as is his way of coping.
Shit, I hate this. I have to do homework. He doesn’t. He can’t even finish one of his art projects. His feet fall asleep where they are planted and he stares through a glossy veil.
This weekend is Castiel’s birthday. I haven’t cut in 6 months… Dean’s other friend’s birthday is on the same weekend, but he doesn’t know if he can spend my birthday with me. It’s fair, considering his friend asked him first.
Castiel said either day would be fine.
I just was looking forward to spend the weekend with him. I mean, we don’t see each other during school all that much, even though I doubt he can stand two days with me. It’s a selfish thought, anyway. Two days must be ridiculous, but just the one day…
His phone dings with a text. Castiel runs a thumb over his scar and looks. Please don’t let me alone on my birthday. I know it’s much but you said you would talk with me and make me feel less alone. I can’t believe I’m thinking this, one day should be enough.
“ye my friend said he’s celebrating it on the day of your b day so ill be over the day before”.
Castiel typically gets about four to six hours of sleep. The razor is still in my bathroom. He licked his lips and took a deep breath. Maybe he’ll sing himself a song on his birthday. It’s going to be a difficult night.