Two Weeks in Europe ✓

8

"You drew me," Cas said, looking surprised. He didn't let go of the sketchbook.

"I--" Jamie spluttered, trying to find an explanation that made sense. He settled on the truth. "I was doodling on the plane."

"No," Cas said, holding up the sketchbook. "You drew me before." The cursed thing was open to one of the first pages. Sure enough, it was a fairly detailed drawing of Cas. Jamie remembered it well. The first sketch Jamie had ever done of him, on one of those nights with Cas in his window seat. The boy was captured on the page gloriously, eyes alight, head tipped back, a laugh on his lips. Cas was staring at him, still looking rather shocked. He flipped through the pages, still holding the sketchbook so that Jamie could see. Paper after paper was covered with Cas. Pencil sketches, cartoon versions, outline upon outline of him in that window seat. Jamie felt exposed, vulnerable. His heart was beating rapidly. Cas was not meant to see these. There was a flare of angry hurt in his gut. Jamie snatched the sketchbook out of Cas's hands. "You drew me," Cas said again, flabbergasted. He stood up so that they were closer to eye-level.

"So?" Jamie snapped. "What's it to you?"

"You told me you didn't draw me," Cas replied. "Or that you wouldn't. Or couldn't." Cas shook his head as though clearing his thoughts. "Something like that." Jamie nodded. He remembered telling Cas that all those years ago. What would Cas have thought of Jamie's obsessive sketching of him? Jamie hadn't wanted to find out. "Why did you lie?" Cas asked softly, confusion in his eyes. Jamie shrugged, eyes cast downward. "They're beautiful," Cas murmured, taking the sketchbook back from Jamie. His fingers traced over the pencil lines.

"Thanks," Jamie said, cracking his knuckles.

"Stop it," Cas frowned, grabbing Jamie's hand reflexively. Jamie's breath caught in his throat. Cas seemed to realize what he had done. His eyes were wide as he glanced at Jamie. Jamie didn't pull away. What was Jamie doing? He was in love with Mikey! Why was he holding hands with Cas? Cas was holding his hand, Jamie told himself. Jamie wasn't doing anything wrong by allowing that to happen, was he? Cas released his hand, looking away. He ran a hand through his dark curls. "If you..." Cas began, then paused, still looking down. "If the reason you didn't want to tell me about these," he waved the sketchbook in the air. "was because you were embarrassed," Cas was choosing his words carefully, Jamie could tell. "I..." Cas exhaled. "I used to circle phrases and things in books that I thought you would like. Or stuff that reminded me of you." He looked up at Jamie through dark lashes. "I still do sometimes. Old habits die hard, I guess."

"Really?" Jamie asked, actually surprised by this admission. Cas nodded. He sat down, setting the sketchbook onto the roof of the bus beside him. He motioned for Jamie to come closer. Cas pulled a small paperback out of his pocket, flipping through the pages. Sure enough, there were words and phrases marked with Cas's scrawling script.

"These ones I made a long time ago," Cas said quietly, a finger tracing over a few sentences. They were about certain afternoons spent in Jamie's bedroom. Jamie felt his cheeks pink a little bit. He glanced at Cas.

"Could I draw you tonight?" Jamie asked, though he wasn't quite sure why the words tumbled out of his mouth.

"Sure," Cas replied, lips twisting in a smile.

Jamie offered a small smile in return. He positioned Cas at his favorite angle (though Cas looked very hot no matter what angle you looked upon him from). Cas's face was lit up just like those evenings on the window seat, the tasteful slope of his nose illuminated by the starlight. Jamie scooted back, pulling out the pencil that was lodged in the metal loop binding of his sketchbook and opening to a fresh page. As the minutes drifted by, Jamie drew and drew and drew. He had forgotten the joy of capturing such an enigma on a page. In a way, the moment was bittersweet - the memories of the past all mixed up in those of the present. There had been a hundred nights of drawing Cas that were just like this one. Except that those nights had happened back when they had been in love. Back when Jamie had known every inch of Cas as well as (if not better than) he knew himself.