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“I cannot believe you dragged me to this hell hole.”
Dean crosses his arms over his chest in frustration, turning to his best friend, Jo, and giving her an annoyed look.
“Oh, come on.” Jo shoves Dean’s shoulder. “This is gonna be fun. Stop being a loser.”
“Dean’s just mad because he isn’t going to get a full night’s sleep before his last first day of college.”
Dean turns his glare on his brother Sam who just appeared with a beer in hand at his side. “I have an 8:00am class tomorrow, bitch.”
“Calm down, jerk.” Sam claps Dean on the back. “You’re a senior now! Live a little.”
“Yeah, a college senior who needs to get a 4.0 this semester for his grad school applications.” Dean mutters, looking around the dive bar Jo and Sam dragged him to against his will.
“For the love of – remember when you used to be fun?” Jo rolls her eyes at Dean. “Before you decided math was the love of your life?”
“Besides,” Sam adds. “The semester doesn’t officially start until tomorrow. You don’t have homework yet. Your super smart math genius brain needs a break after a summer interning at MIT. No excuses, man.”
“Yeah, what he said. Oh!” Jo claps her hands together, turning her head towards the bar’s stage area. “The band is starting, come on.”
Jo grabs Dean’s hand, dragging him to a table right near the stage. Sam follows and settles beside his brother. “This is apparently Jo’s favorite local band. They’re called The Fallen Angels or something weird like that.” Sam leans over and shouts in Dean’s ear; the band has started up at full volume. Dean nods in understanding, watching Jo bob her head to the music jovially.
By their fourth song, Dean admits that the band isn’t half bad. By his third beer, he even starts tapping his foot under the table, getting into the music. Dean’s real interest, however, has nothing to do with the band’s musical abilities and everything to do with the lead singer.
The first thing Dean notices about him is his voice: deep, gravely, and sexy as hell. Next, Dean takes in the singer’s bedhead hair with midnight blue highlights, arm sleeve tattoos, numerous face piercings, and strikingly blue eyes surrounded by smoky eye shadow. He gulps down the rest of his beer nervously, feeling his palms start to sweat for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
“The last time I saw you concentrate so hard on something was when you were studying for your differential equation’s final.” Dean snaps his attention away from the blue-eyed punk singer and blushes when he notices Jo smirking at him. “You should one hundred percent go talk to him after the show.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Dean scoffs. Despite his protests, Dean’s eyes wander back towards the band’s leading man.
“Look at you!” Jo laughs. “You’ve got it bad, Winchester.”
Dean spares her a sideways glance. “According to you, I’ve already found the love of my life in math, remember?”
“Yeah, well, that guy is way hotter than math. Just sayin’.” Jo quips as she knocks back her beer.
Dean rolls his eyes at Jo’s comment, but he doesn’t disagree with her. He definitely will not be thinking about math when he gets into bed tonight.
***
Dean wakes up exhausted the next morning but still manages to get to his morning class five minutes early. He’s settling into his preferred seat – third row back, one desk left of center – when he walks in.
The lead singer. From the night before. The one Dean stared at for two hours straight. And may or may not have thought about in the shower that morning.
Dean feels the blood drain from his face. Why is he here? In the linear algebra classroom? There’s no way this guy is a math major. If there’s a poster child for what the exact opposite of a math major is, this guy is it.
But it is a big school, with multiple class sections each semester, and Dean knows damn well that linear algebra is only available to senior math majors. The fact that this is the first time Dean’s sharing a class with his leather jacket wearing, sex hair sporting, blue-eyed peer is just the worst timing known to man.
Any hope Dean had of making it through this experience unscathed goes out the window when the man scans the classroom, his eyes stopping when they land on Dean. They make eye contact; Dean’s stomach plummets when the singer smirks at him and (undoubtedly on purpose) chooses the seat directly behind his own.
Dean spends the entirety of the first class barely hearing a word the professor says. All he can do is think about the man sitting behind him and most likely noticing the red flush across the back of his neck. When the class finally ends, Dean rushes to gather his things and leave without incident. His plan is thwarted when Mr. Blue Eyes stops at the edge of his desk and demands his attention.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean starts at the sound of his name. How does he know his name? As if reading his mind, the singer motions to the syllabus still visible on the desk, at the top of which Dean wrote his name.
“Uh, hi.” Dean replies lamely.
“Saw you at the bar last night.” The man gives Dean a once over.
“My friend likes your band.” Dean offers, doing his best (and failing) to play it cool and pretend he isn’t being confronted by the man he’d been ogling for two hours straight the night before.
“From where I was standing you appeared to enjoy yourself as well.” Blue eyes lock onto Dean’s green ones. “It seemed you liked what you saw.”
“You mean what I heard.” Dean automatically corrects.
“Sure,” The punk rocker’s lips quirk up in a small smile. “That too.”
Dean, already on edge given the circumstances, suddenly feels defensive, but before he can get a word in, the man puts both hands on the edge of the Dean’s desk and leans into his personal space. “I’m Castiel Novak, but you can call me Cas.”
“Excuse me, Castiel,” Dean emphasizes, “But ever heard of a thing called personal space?”
Castiel tilts his head in amusement and stares at Dean a beat longer before backing up a bit. “What are the odds our paths wouldn’t cross until senior year?”
“I dunno. Why don't you do the math and figure it out?” Dean snaps.
Castiel laughs and then darts his tongue out to wet his lips – which of course Dean’s staring at – and Dean notices something catch the light.
“A tongue ring? Really?” Dean hears the words leave his mouth before he can stop himself.
“I have many piercings you don’t know about.” Castiel smirks. “Maybe I’ll show them to you sometime.”
Before Dean’s brain can fully process that comment, Castiel turns and saunters out of the classroom. The fact that Dean watches him until he is out of sight confirms what Dean already knows – when it comes to Castiel Novak, he is totally fucked.
Dean internally curses at himself. He does not have time for this shit.
***
Dean heads to his next linear algebra class two days later utterly determined to ignore Castiel’s entire existence. He doesn’t have time for some jerk off, snarky, punk rock rebel, even if he is painfully attractive and a math major. Therefore, when Castiel strolls into class just on time and slides into the desk directly next to Dean’s, as opposed to the one behind him, Dean is understandably distressed.
Dean stares straight ahead. He will not, under any circumstances, be looking anywhere other than the projection screen at the front of the classroom. Screw peripheral vision.
The entire universe is apparently against Dean because halfway through the class he accidently knocks his pencil off his desk. When he bends over to pick it up, someone else’s hand is already grabbing the writing utensil. Dean – stupidly because let’s be real he knows exactly who that hand belongs to – looks up and finds blue eyes about five inches away from his own.
“You dropped this.” Castiel slides the pencil into Dean’s hand, his fingers brushing against Dean’s as he does so.
Dean jerks his hand back at the touch, his skin on fire, and watches in horror as Castiel goddamn winks at him before straightening back up and continuing to listen to the professor’s lecture.
Dean irrationally glares at the pencil in his hand as he settles back into his seat. How dare it betray him.
***
During his third linear algebra class, Dean barely moves a muscle. There will be no more accidental dropping of pencils, so help him God.
When the professor tells them to pair up with the person next to them for a problem set, Dean turns to his left (as opposed to his punk rocker laden right) so quickly he almost gives himself whiplash. He doesn’t even care that this means working with Gordon, one of the douchiest math majors alive. All that Dean cares about is that Gordon’s eyes aren’t blue and one look from the man doesn’t have him needing a cold shower.
At the end of the class, when Dean’s packing up his things, he feels Castiel at his side before he hears his rough voice in his ear.
“I think you underestimate just how good a partner I could be to you.”
Dean grips his pencil so hard, it snaps in half.
Castiel chuckles. “I guess that pencil had it coming.”
“Yeah, well it isn’t the only thing I’m going to break in half if you don’t watch it, buddy.” Dean practically growls.
“Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Dean.” Castiel leaves with those parting words.
Dean rubs a hand over his face and groans. Looks like he is going to need that cold shower after all.
***
Dean hates when people are late. It is one of his biggest pet peeves. Therefore, the fact that he is running across campus to make it to his own math symposium has his anxiety at defcon level 10. Not that anyone will really care if he is five minutes late; the only people that show up to a senior student’s math symposium presentation on a Friday afternoon are freshmen required to be there by their professors for their intro calculus courses.
Regardless that he is rushing to what is most likely an entirely empty auditorium save for a few freshmen students cursing the day they decided to become math majors, Dean hates being late. Therefore, when he hurries into the auditorium, he practically throws himself towards the front podium to set up his power point presentation.
“Sorry I’m late.” Dean starts his apology. “The bus schedule was not on my side –” Dean stops short when he looks up into the audience for the first time. As expected, he sees about ten people scattered throughout the auditorium. A couple of professors and a handful of bored looking freshmen. And then there’s Castiel. Front and center. Leather jacket and all.
Dean’s eyes go wide in shock, and he sees Castiel’s blue eyes sparkle with amusement in the dim auditorium light, a smirk plastered across his stupidly attractive face. Dean swallows and collects himself, redirecting his attention to the lecture at hand. He will not let this punk, blue-eyed, blue-haired, tattooed musician distract him.
“Anyway, let’s talk about category theory.” Dean purposefully looks anywhere but the front row for the rest of his 45 minute long presentation.
As soon as Dean’s presentation ends to scattered applause amongst the sparse audience, Castiel jumps up from his seat and saunters towards the front podium.
“What the hell man?” Dean glares as Castiel approaches him. “Are you stalking me or something?”
“Yes.” Castiel deadpans. “You’ve caught me.”
Dean’s glare deepens.
Castiel rolls his eyes. “Or perhaps I came because I’m actually interested in your presentation. Math major, remember?” Castiel points to himself. “I do sit next to you in linear algebra. In case you forgot.”
“Oh really? So category theory is your idea of fun on a Friday afternoon? I find that hard to believe.” Dean huffs.
“Actually, I prefer point set topology.” Castiel challenges, shutting Dean and his smart mouth up.
Dean gulps, inexplicably (and annoyingly) more attracted to his fellow math major now that he knows Castiel has a brain behind those striking, eyeliner clad blue eyes.
“Besides, you came to my show last week, so I figured it was my turn to come to yours.” Castiel shrugs, doing his best to look nonchalant.
Dean blushes, not sure how to respond. Before he can think of a retort, Castiel continues talking.
“I’ve got another show tonight. You should come. It won’t be quite as thrilling as hearing you explain category theory for the better part of an hour, but it still should be fun.”
“Don’t mock me.” Dean bites.
“I assure you,” Castiel’s voice is almost sultry as he leans a bit closer to Dean. “When I say your talking about categorical equivalence captivated me, I mean it most sincerely.”
Dean’s blush spreads down his neck; suddenly he feels hot all over. “I need to study.” He mutters lamely.
“On a Friday?”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“How about this?” Castiel throws up his hands as a sign of compromise. “You come to my show tonight and I will stay in with you tomorrow night and we can study.”
“Study?” Dean gulps.
“Yes. You, me, and our linear algebra homework all night long.” Castiel winks. “Sounds like a hell of a Saturday night to me.”
Dean takes a small step away from Castiel, concerned the other man will actually feel the heat coming off him if he doesn’t. “Fine.” Dean concedes.
Castiel’s face breaks into a blinding grin. “Excellent. Let’s go.”
“Now? It’s only 5pm.” Dean’s eyes widen in surprise.
“We will grab dinner first.” Castiel shrugs as if his suggestion makes absolute perfect sense.
“But – I – I need to change.” Dean stutters, trying to buy time to prepare for his… date? It is a date, right?
“Why?” Castiel tilts his head in confusion. “I like your sweater vest and bow tie. Very sexy math professor.” He winks at Dean.
Dean swallows. Definitely a date.
Dean’s pretty sure his face has never been this red.
“Fine.” He points his finger at Castiel as he collects himself. “But you’re buying.”
“Of course, Dean.” Castiel holds the door open for him.
“Thanks, Cas.” Dean doesn’t miss the happy look on Castiel’s face after he hears Dean call him by his preferred nickname for the first time.
“Dean,” Castiel chuckles. “You are going to be my favorite study partner, I can tell.”
Dean laughs nervously in return. He has a feeling Cas is going to be bad for his study routine.