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Lasagna always makes the kitchen smell so good. Dean shuts the timer off before pulling the casserole dish out of the oven and pushing the door closed with his foot. He turns to set the dish on the counter, studiously ignoring the pile of dishes there. Plate, fork, knife, and a glass for water. He won’t put them on the table, because he’s learned that it’s harder when they go unused.
He glances at the time on the oven, pausing to listen for the sound of a car, a garage door opening, or anything that indicates that Cas is home from work. He might not come over. He doesn’t always. Dean scoops out a serving of lasagna and adds two breadsticks to his plate before carrying it over to the table with a beer from the fridge. He leaves the pile of dishes on the counter.
The noodles are perfect, just slightly squishy and the meat sauce has just the right amount of flavor. He chews the first bite slowly, then takes a swig of his beer while debating whether he’ll watch college basketball tonight or pull up something on Netflix. Headlights skate across the front window, then the grinding squeal of Cas’ garage door opener echoes. He should oil that for Cas one of these days.
He takes another bite, forcing himself to debate a binge watch of Dexter versus an Avengers movie instead of thinking about what Cas will do tonight. They don’t really make plans. Dean cooks and sometimes Cas shows up at the front door like they had a date or something. Occasionally, he’s in a bad mood and he doesn’t want to talk, but often he smiles and jokes with Dean. Dean would feel worse if it was only one way or the other.
Dean is lifting another forkful to his mouth when there’s a knock on the door. His smile breaks out without his permission. When he opens the door, Cas stands on the porch in sweatpants and a hoodie. Dean tries not grin even wider. When Cas shows up in comfortable clothes, it means he’s in a good mood. It’s the nights that he comes over in his work clothes that are the hardest.
Cas sniffs the air tentatively. “Lasagna night?”
Dean steps back so Cas can enter and then follows him to the kitchen. “Yeah, breadsticks too. I woulda made a salad if I’d known you were coming.” He can’t resist throwing out these little comments, hints that he’d like their impromptu dinners to become something a little more ordinary.
Cas just shrugs noncommittally and takes his dishes from the counter. He serves himself a scoop of lasagna and a breadstick before bringing them to the seat next to Dean’s.
Dean fills Cas’ glass with water and brings it to him at the table. He takes his seat and continues eating, sneaking little glances at Cas out of the corner of his eye. Regardless of how weird their relationship is, having Cas here is pretty awesome. His dark hair is more tousled than usual, probably from pulling the hoodie on, and he chews each bite thoughtfully, like the combination of meat and cheese and noodles is a mystery for him to solve.
“Good day at work?”
Cas looks up, his blue eyes wide as if he’s surprised by Dean’s question even though Dean always asks. “Good enough, I suppose. They’ve assigned a new assistant in our department because we’ve been given a fairly expansive project. He seems competent.”
Dean bites back a grin. “That’s what’s important, I guess.” Most people would mention whether he was a nice guy or easy to get along with, but not Cas. Dean has learned that Cas doesn’t really think that way.
“Were you able to fix the car that was giving you trouble?”
Dean flicks a glance at Cas. Warmth bubbles up in his chest that he remembers that conversation. “Yeah, turned out to be the timing belt. Guy finally picked it up yesterday, so I’m back to changing oil.”
Cas frowns. “You don’t enjoy that.”
Dean huffs a laugh. “Nah, I don’t mind it, but I like the jobs where I gotta figure things out. It’s like a puzzle, not just goin’ through the motions.”
Cas nods, eyes squinting a little as he considers Dean’s response. “That makes sense. I prefer the difficult projects too. There’s more satisfaction when you have to work hard for something.”
Dean knows that Cas is talking about work, because Cas always says exactly what he means, but he can’t help but feel that it applies to this thing, whatever it is, between them. Dean’s had relationships before, good ones and bad ones, but he’s never had one quite like this. He’s not even sure if they are in a relationship.
If it was just dinner a few times a week, followed by watching television together, it would be a simple thing to say that they’re friends. Friends do those kinds of things. They talk about work and rag on each other about movies they haven’t seen. That’s what friends do. What friends don’t do, though, is what comes after.
When Dean yawns and says that he’s ready for bed, Cas follows. If he has shown up in his suit, Dean lends him sweats and a t-shirt. If he’s already dressed comfortably, he goes straight to the bathroom and brushes his teeth while Dean changes. Once they’re both ready, Dean pulls back the covers and Cas crawls under the blankets. Dean climbs in after him and pulls Cas into his arms and they fall asleep like that, wrapped together.
There’s nothing sexual, no touching or kissing. Cas has never shown any indication that he wants that and Dean is unwilling to push and ruin whatever this is. In the last six weeks, Cas has gone from his weird, slightly annoying neighbor, to one of Dean’s best friends, strange adult sleepovers notwithstanding. If he didn’t enjoy spending time with Cas so much, it would be driving Dean nuts.
“What are we watching tonight?”
Dean shakes himself from his thoughts and looks up at Cas. He has finished his dinner, knife and fork laid across his plate. He’s watching Dean steadily, a little pinch between his eyebrows. “Ah, you can pick if you want,” Dean forces out, tearing his eyes away from way Cas’ throat works when he swallows the last of his water.
“I enjoyed the super hero show we watched last week,” he offers with a small shrug. Dean has learned that Cas isn’t very good at asking for things. He usually waits until Dean suggests something and then agrees.
“Agents of S.H.E.I.L.D.? Yeah, we got a couple more episodes before the season finale. Season three isn’t up yet.”
Dean sets up the television while Cas clears the table and rinses the dishes. The first few times Dean tried to stop him, telling him that guests don’t clean up, but Cas stoically explained that if he’s eating Dean’s food, the least he can do is clean up after them.
Cas settles onto the far end of the couch away from where Dean is curled with his legs pulled up under him. Occasionally over the weeks, Dean has shifted closer at times, allowing his leg or arm to brush against Cas. Although Cas didn’t tense up or push Dean away, he always got up under the pretense of using the bathroom or getting a drink soon after. Each time, when he came back to the living room, he sat in the recliner instead of returning to his seat on the couch. It didn’t take long for Dean to get the message.
Although the drama playing out on the screen is engaging, with a guest appearance by an amnesiac Lady Sif, Dean spends most of the show watching Cas out of the corner of his eye. When Cas smiles, his whole face lights up. It happens so rarely that Dean is determined to catch every one.
“My brother Gabriel was obsessed with Norse mythology,” Cas shares softly, not looking away from the television.
Dean glances up in surprise. Cas never talks about his family, not since Christmas Eve when he fell apart in Dean’s driveway. “Yeah?” he responds hesitantly.
Cas’ eyes flick to Dean and then back to the TV. He nods slightly. “Loki, I believe, is his favorite. He is a character in this universe, yes?”
Dean nods. “Yeah, mostly in the Thor movies, but he was in The Avengers too.”
Cas doesn’t respond, eyes trained on the TV, but Dean watches his throat work as he swallows hard.
“You miss him?”
“I do,” Cas concedes, eyes shadowed with pain. “Michael and I never really got along, but I’d like to believe that Gabriel and I were friends. He tried to defend me to my parents, but even he could only do so much.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
Cas looks away from the TV and stares out the front window into the dark. “I tried,” he admits after a few moments of strained silence. “A few years ago I called the last cell phone number he had. He changed it, apparently, because it belongs to a teenaged girl now. I suppose I missed my chance.”
Dean hates seeing Cas in pain. He’s usually so stoic, so in control of himself. Watching it kills Dean. Knowing that Cas won’t let him offer comfort when they’re sitting on the couch, Dean does the only thing he can think of. He lets out a big yawn and stretches his arms above his head. “Man, it was a long day. I’m kinda beat. Do you mind if we finish this another time?”
Cas looks over at him, eyebrows pinched together, but he just nods. “I don’t mind.”
As usual, there’s no discussion, no suggestion that maybe Cas will go back to his house. Instead, they take turns using the bathroom and by the time Cas comes out, Dean is already under the covers. He makes room for Cas to slide in beside him and tugs his warm body against him, Cas’ back pressed against Dean’s chest. Just like every night, Dean fights the urge to press a soft kiss the back of Cas’ neck or run his nose through the thick hair at Cas’ nape. Instead, he forces himself to focus on breathing evenly, every sense overwhelmed by the man in his arms.
Waking up with Cas is a little more awkward than going to bed with him. Cas is always warm and loose, body sinking into Dean’s embrace so that the first thought Dean has when he wakes up is how much he loves sleeping with Cas in his arms. His second thought, though, is how to move away as stealthily as possible so that Cas doesn’t notice Dean’s erection pressing into his lower back. He could say it’s just a normal byproduct of sleep, but he knows it has more to do with who is in his arms and he doesn’t want to lie.
He tries not to think about Cas during the day or speculate on whether he’ll show up that night. He’s learned that thinking about it makes the day almost unbearable. It’s hard though, when he’s sitting across from Sam during his lunch break, and Cas is all his brother wants to talk about.
“So, wait, you’re not sleeping with him?”
Dean sighs and takes another bite of his sandwich. He chews as slowly as possible, ignoring the way Sam rolls his eyes. “I am sleeping with him.”
“But you’re not dating?”
“We’re not dating.”
“Dean,” Sam says, exasperated. “Why does everything have to be about sex with you? Why can’t you give a real relationship a chance? Valentine’s Day is in four days. You could actually have someone to spend it with.”
“Sam.”
“No, come on. You never give anyone a chance to even get close to you. That’s no way to live.”
“Sam,” Dean tries again. “Me and Cas aren’t having sex.”
Sam frowns, shakes his head, then narrows his eyes. “But you said you’re sleeping him.”
Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, sleeping. Like, he crawls into bed with me and we sleep. That’s it.”
Sam just stares at him.
Dean holds up one hand. “Scouts honor.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “You weren’t a boy scout, Dean.”
“Point still stands,” Dean retorts with a shrug.
Before Sam can wind himself up again, Dean takes another big bite of his sandwich and reaches across the table to steal a french fry. He’s not sure why Sam gets then when he never finishes them.
“So, let me see if I understand. You finally got the hot guy you’ve been pining over for the last six months to give you the time of day and all that’s happening is sleepovers?”
Dean shrugs again. “And we eat dinner.”
“You eat dinner?”
“I cook, and he shows up a couple times a week and eats dinner. We watch TV and then we go to bed, to sleep.”
Sam stares at him again. “And that’s okay with you?”
Dean lets out a long breath and shoves his plate away before meeting Sam’s eyes. “Jesus, Sam. You really think I’m okay with this?” he barks, finally losing his patience. “Hell no. It’s driving me fucking crazy. He’s pretty much all I think about. I’ve been jerking off in the shower so much that the sound of running water gives me a hard-on. Makes eating lunch at the Chinese place with the fountain a little awkward.”
Sam makes a disgusted face, but doesn’t rise to the bait. “So why don’t you say anything? Maybe he wants more too.”
It’s that thought that haunts him every night that Cas doesn’t come over. If they were more than just friends, Dean could call him. He could invite him over, or even go over to his place. They could go on dates and see new movies instead of what’s available on Netflix. And most importantly, Dean could kiss him. The urge is getting harder and harder to ignore.
Dean sighs. “It’s not that easy, Sammy. Cas is, well, he’s kind of a weird dude, you know? He’s not good with people and if he doesn’t want things to change, it might scare him away completely if he thinks I wanna push him into something.”
“But it might not,” Sam pushes.
Dean shakes his head, crossing his arms across his chest. “No, Sam. Better to just let things be. I don’t know what I would do if he stopped comin’ around.”
The underlying current of fear that Dean will say the wrong thing and screw things up stays with him the rest of the day. He heats up lasagna leftovers for dinner, making sure to leave enough for Cas just in case, and eats on the couch while re-watching Sherlock instead of at the table. It’s well after the time that Cas usually comes home when his car pulls up his drive. Almost immediately, another car pulls up the drive behind him.
Dean pauses, forkful of lasagna poised between mouth and plate. In the last six months, Dean has never seen another car at Cas’ house. Cas leaves for work and he comes home. He goes jogging and works on his flower beds. But he never, ever has visitors.
Feeling like a Class-A creep, Dean slips into the bathroom, where he has an unobstructed view of Cas’ driveway. A good-looking blond man climbs out of the fancy Mazda and goes around to the passenger seat. Dean resolutely doesn’t flinch when he pulls a duffle bag out and slings it over his shoulder. Not just a visitor then, an overnight visitor. Dean’s heart clenches hard in his chest.
Bile rising his throat, Dean wants to turn away, to go back to the living room and forget he saw this, but he can’t seem to make his feet move. The man walks up the front porch steps and waits until Cas pulls the door open. Cas takes the bag from him and steps back slightly so he can enter, and Dean looks away when the man puts his hand possessively on Cas’ arm, not wanting to see them kiss.
Dean walks back out to the living room in a daze. Having lost his appetite, he dumps the rest of his dinner in the garbage. After a moment of thought, he dumps out the rest of the casserole too. Cas obviously isn’t coming over for leftovers. Before returning to the couch, he grabs another beer.
That explains it, he supposes. Whatever this weird friendship is, no matter how strange it is that Cas climbs into bed with him a couple times each week, the other man clearly doesn’t want to take it any farther because he already has someone. The guy looked polished and a little hipster, sharp black blazer over a v-neck undershirt and fancy black slacks. Nothing like Dean’s plaid flannels and jeans that are worn so soft that there are holes in the knees. He looks way more suited to Cas’ smart book publishing world than Dean could ever be.
Sherlock isn’t really holding his attention anymore, so Dean exits out and scans through the recommended list on Netflix. There’s a few that he hasn’t seen before, but he picks out Saving Private Ryan instead. His eyes are burning and his throat is sore. If he’s going to cry tonight, it’s going to because of the brutalities of war, not because of the asshole next door.
By the time Private Ryan is standing at Captain Miller’s grave, Dean is crying silently. The line of beer bottles on the coffee table are edging toward double-digits, and Dean still has work in the morning, so he shuts off the television and shoves himself up from the couch. The last time he showed up with a hangover, Bobby almost kicked his ass. Wouldn’t that be a great topper to this whole fiasco? He swipes the back of one hand across his face and tells himself that it doesn’t matter, being alone is nothing new.
He shuffles to the bathroom, studiously ignoring the window that looks out over Cas’ driveway, then drags himself to bed. After staring up at the ceiling for a while, he turns over onto his stomach. Though he’s gotten used to sleeping on his side, arms curled around Cas’ body, he refuses to lay that way now. It’s just another reminder that someone else is sleeping with Cas tonight.
Waking up to classic rock usually puts Dean in a good mood, but when Bad Company’s Love Hurts is the first thing Dean hears when he resurfaces, he wants to throw his phone across the room. His whole body aches and his mouth feels like something curled up in it and died. Although he did finally drop off at some point during the night, it doesn’t feel like it.
Two cups of coffee, plus a third in a travel mug, allows him to make to the car by the time he needs to leave for work. When the garage door goes up and he starts to back down the driveway, he makes the mistake of glancing over at Cas’ house. The little red Mazda is still there, like it’s mocking Dean. His throat closes up again, but he takes a swig of the almost too-hot coffee and tells himself that he has no reason to be upset. It’s not like Cas is cheating on him. They never had anything to begin with.
Hangover or not, Dean’s bad mood has Bobby sniping at him all day anyway. He drags himself through a full day of work, then heads straight home. Although he’s out of beer, he doesn’t stop at the store. If he has it, he’ll drink it, and he doesn’t need a repeat of the raging headache he has been battling all day.
Instead of the shrimp pasta he had been planning for tonight, Dean warms up a frozen pizza and plops onto the couch with it. He doesn’t bother to set out a second stack of dishes.
Malcolm Reynolds snipes at his crew through two episodes of Firefly and Dean almost – almost – forgets that he misses Cas. By the third episode, he has almost started believing that it doesn’t matter, that their friendship is just a fluke, brought on by the intense emotion and loneliness that Cas experienced at Christmas.
He’s shoving his fourth slice of pizza into his mouth when there’s a knock on the door. He freezes, heart beating in his throat. There’s no doubt that it’s Cas, because anyone else would have texted first. He waits, holding his breath for a few moments, until the knock comes again. Cas knocks two more times, then, after a long pause Dean hears heavy footsteps across the porch and back down the stairs. If there are tears in his eyes when he falls asleep that night, he tells himself it’s because he shouldn’t have watched Serenity right before bedtime.
The next two days are no better. The bitch of the situation is that Dean has become so used to sleeping with Cas that going without him for so long means Dean can’t sleep more than a few hours each night. He’s exhausted and on edge, snapping at everyone. Even worse, Cas has come to the door every night, knocking a few times before leaving when Dean doesn’t answer. He doesn’t plan to ignore Cas forever. He just needs to get his bearings and accept that Cas doesn’t want the same thing out of their relationship that Dean does. Then Dean will be strong enough to go back to being friends.
Valentine’s Day is a stupid holiday anyway. Garth’s girlfriend sends him flowers to the garage, and all Benny talks about all day is the plans he made for a romantic evening with his wife, even going so far as to book an overnight babysitter. Dean ignores them, turning up the shop radio until it drowns them out. This isn’t his first Valentine’s Day alone, and it certainly won’t be his last.
When the third radio station in a row is playing love songs during the drive home, Dean shoves a cassette in the stereo and cranks Motorhead. Screaming guitars and growling vocals drown out his thoughts. At least Love Me Forever is on a different album, so he doesn’t have to worry about anything reminding him of Cas. He certainly doesn’t wonder whether Cas and the blond man are celebrating the commercialized holiday.
Dean is halfway up his driveway when he realizes that Cas is sitting on his front porch steps. He glances down at the time on his phone. Twenty after five. Cas is never home before Dean, and certainly never before six o’clock. He pulls into the garage, but instead of putting the door down and going through the house, he walks out through the open door and meets Cas on the sidewalk. Dean’s eyes narrow when he sees that Cas is holding a large red heart-shaped box, the kind that holds Valentine’s chocolates.
There’s awkward silence for a moment, while Dean drinks in the sight of Cas. Although he looks unfairly good, as he always does, there are dark circles under his eyes as if he hasn’t been sleeping well either. Dean resolutely tells himself that it has nothing to do with him.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean flicks his eyes up to Cas’ face, then quickly looks away. He could get lost in Cas’ eyes and that doesn’t really help him in his pursuit of getting over the man in front of him. “Heya, Cas.”
There’s another awkward silence and then Cas steps forward. “Is everything okay?”
Dean doesn’t look back at Cas when he answers. “Yeah, sure.”
Cas sighs. “You haven’t answered the door the last few days.”
Dean does look up then. He forces himself to stay strong when he meets Cas’ unwavering gaze. “I was busy.”
Something about Cas crumples a little and he looks away. “Oh,” he says softly.
“Did you need something? I’ve got things to do,” Dean says, the words coming out more sharply than he intended. It’s not Cas’ fault that Dean read more into their friendship than Cas intended.
Cas looks down at the heart-shaped box, turning it over and over in his hands. “I wanted to give you these,” he murmurs, not looking at Dean.
Dean frowns in confusion. “Don’t you think you should be giving them to your guy?”
Cas glances up at Dean, squinting as he looks at Dean with that stupid tilt to his head that makes Dean melt. “What guy?”
Dean almost laughs. Is Cas really going to pretend he didn’t just have a man in his house? Does he think Dean is stupid? Cas has never seemed like the type to play games, but it wouldn’t be the first time Dean has read someone wrong. “The blond guy. Drives a fancy little Mazda convertible?”
Cas’ eyes widen slightly. “Balthazar? Why would I give them to Balthazar?”
Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “Because that’s what Valentine’s Day is, Cas. You celebrate with the guy you’re bangin’, not your next door neighbor.”
Cas’ frown deepened. “Banging?”
Dean just stares impassively back.
“You mean having sex? I, that’s, I don’t know why, Dean, I’m not having sex with Balthazar.”
“He brought an overnight bag, Cas. I’m not stupid. I know what that means.”
Cas heaves an exasperated sigh. “You are not stupid, Dean, but I think you are very, very confused.”
Dean’s bites back his anger and raises one eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Then enlighten me.”
Cas nods and takes a deep breath. “Balthazar is the new assistant in my department. You remember, I told you about him the other night?”
Dean does recall Cas mentioning it over lasagna. That means Cas has only known the guy for less than a week. It doesn’t really make Dean feel better.
“He came over on Tuesday to help with a presentation we were assigned for first thing Wednesday morning. It was a last minute pitch to the senior editor for our project and there was simply no other way to get it done.”
“So you were working?”
Cas’ expression softens fondly. “Yes, Dean. The duffle you saw contained the resource materials we were using to put together the presentation. It was late when we finished and he slept on the couch.”
“So you’re not, ah—” Dean can’t bring himself to put his thoughts into words.
“I am not involved in a romantic relationship with Balthazar, Dean. If it wouldn’t have been exceedingly hard to explain, I would have come over after he fell asleep. I’ve found that I don’t sleep as well when I’m not with you.”
Dean’s relief is so sharp, so overwhelming that his knees almost buckle. “I, ah, me too. I haven’t been sleeping.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Dean nods, feeling ashamed of himself.
“I should have explained.”
Dean shakes his head sharply. “No, man. You shouldn’t have needed to. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” He looks down at the heart still clutched tightly in Cas’ hand. “That’s for me?”
Cas nods and holds out the box. Dean reaches as if he’s going to take the box. Instead, he clasps Cas’ wrist and tugs him forward. Before he can talk himself out of it, he leans in, one hand coming up to curl around the back of Cas’ neck, and pulls him into a gentle kiss. Cas tenses slightly, lips soft and warm against Dean’s, but unresponsive. After a moment, Dean releases him and steps back. He’s already addicted to the taste of Cas, but he’s confused why Cas isn’t kissing back.
Cas’ eyes are wide, wider than he’s ever seen before and his breath is coming in short pants. The blue is blown black as his pupils dilate crazily. He looks stunned as he raises one hand to press the pads of his fingers to his lips tentatively. “What was that for?”
Dean’s brows furrow. “A Valentine’s kiss. You gave me a Valentine and that’s what people do, Cas. They kiss.”
Cas takes in another gulp of breath. “They’re, uh, friendship chocolates, Dean. I read about them in a book I edited last year. In Japan, Valentine’s day is a holiday during which women give different kinds of chocolate to the men in their lives depending on the status of their relationship, from co-workers to romantic partners. I’m not a woman but I wanted to give you something to show that I value our friendship, especially since it seemed the last few days that you were upset with me.”
Heat creeps up Dean’s neck throughout Cas’ hurried explanation. Cheeks burning, he looks down at the box Cas still holds. The other man’s knuckles are white with how hard he’s gripping the box. “Friendship chocolates?”
Cas swallows hard. “Yes. I, well, I don’t really have any friends, Dean, and you’ve become quite important to me.” He looks away bashfully.
Despite the persistent wish that the sidewalk would open up and swallow him, Dean can’t stand to see Cas looking so distraught. He steps forward and cups Cas’ cheek, turning his face gently back. “You’re important to me too, man. I went a little crazy with jealousy this week, thinkin’ you were replacing me.”
“I couldn’t replace you, Dean,” Cas says, eyes shining.
“Shit, I’m sorry about the, ah, about the kiss. I just, I didn’t understand and I, well, you can just ignore that. We can go back to the way things were.”
Cas presses his fingers to his lips again. “I don’t think I can go back to the way things were.”
Dean’s heart sinks. This is it. He screwed everything up and now Cas wants nothing to do with him. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, heartfelt. He forces his voice to be strong instead of giving into the emotion that’s just under the surface. It’s not Cas’ fault that Dean sucks at this. “I understand, Cas.”
Cas frowns. “I don’t think you do, Dean.” He steps forward and before Dean can even process that Cas is in his personal space, Cas’ hands are on his face and he’s tugging Dean forward into a kiss. This time, Cas’ lips are anything but unresponsive. A warm, smooth slide, made slick when Cas flicks his tongue out to lap gently at the seam of Dean’s mouth. Dean practically yelps in surprise, before relaxing into the kiss, even though it only lasts a few seconds. When Cas steps back, he looks incredibly pleased with himself.
Dean stares, eyes wide and heart pounding like it will burst out of his chest. “You want, ah, you want that? To kiss?”
Cas squeezes his eyes shut then opens them and stares right into Dean’s, the blue vibrant. “I do. I’m not good at this, Dean, at relationships, but I like kissing, especially if I can kiss you. I can’t promise anything else, but I would very much like to kiss you. I’ve missed you.”
Dean swallows hard. He still doesn’t know where this leaves them, whether they’re a couple now, or whether they’re just adding kissing to their already odd routine of dinner dates and platonic cuddling. Honestly, though, he doesn’t really care. They can figure that out another time. “I missed you too, Cas. I was gonna make shrimp pasta for dinner, if you’re hungry.”
Cas smiles, a grin that lights up his whole face, chasing away the shadows under his eyes. “Sure. Just let me grab my pajamas.”