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Crispin and Cas got out of the car and hurried into the train station to get out of the storm. That wind was awful.
As it turned out, it was perfect timing. Deckard had just got off the train. Someone was with him too. Someone in a chef’s apron with red hair.
Cas grinned and waved. “Deck—“
Some weird green sludge flew into her face. But Deckard and his friend had heard and looked up.
“Hey,” Deckard said with a small smile, as they approached them.
“Deck. Is Deck your name?” the guy beside him asked him. He tapped his chin. “But that’s not a name… Is it?”
Deckard sighed quietly, but otherwise ignored him.
“Hey man. How was cooking school?” said Crispin. Boy, was it good to have Deckard back. Now they could have breakfast again. “And who’s this?” he asked, turning to the redhead, “A friend?”
“Uh… Deckard bit his lip. Then gestured toward the guy. “This is, um, Prince, I guess?” he asked.
Prince, apparently, nodded his head eagerly. “Ooh. Yeah, I like that.”
“And no, he’s not exactly a friend,” Deckard answered.
“Hey. That’s mean,” Prince pouted.
Crispin blinked. “A… boyfriend then?” he asked.
“What?” Deckard balked. “No! He’s not! He’s just some gay—gii—gu—guy I started talking to.”
“We met in class,” said Prince, “I offered to help him—“
“He told me I have a weird head!” Deckard suddenly shouted, over top of him. “And then he followed me home.”
“I had to pay for my own ticket. With coins,” sighed Prince, shaking his head. He put his hands on his hips and looked at Deckard. “He hasn’t told me his name yet.”
Deckard glared at him.
“So…” said Crispin, “A guy you just met, who doesn’t even know your name, got tickets with you, got on a train with you and went home with you?”
Deckard nodded slowly. “Yeah. Basically.”
Crispin glanced between them.
“…Sounds pretty gay to me.”