𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐀𝐟𝐚𝐫| 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦

Y'know, I've read so many stories about love. About enticing, romantic, fluttery love. Yet, I fail to think of a love story where there is no mutual-pinning, no happy ending, and yet here I am, in the midst of one.

I'm frozen to the ground, rooted in the very depths of the floorboards, and my mind doesn't do much to spare me a little courage to do anything about it; my eyes can hardly perceive what's ahead of me. No, they can perceive, can't accept. Breaths so shallow, although I can hear them with every rotten second that passes. Every second I wallow into a hole I've vigorously clawed at the edges to stay out of while simultaneously pretending it wasn't there.

It's not serious. My mind tries, closing my eyes to the murk of the hole crowded around me. It's Dean.

Yes, it is Dean, my best friend since Freshman year, eyeing Martha Cunningham like he's entranced with every enthusiastic syllable that blubbers from her mouth, smirking wolfishly, which he knows is charming. He's over there, leaning yet another girl against Everest's circular wooden tables, flirting like he's not just there to get laid, and I'm over here, trying to salvage the reckless high from before, trying to turn back to Claire and Ruby's conversation and pretend like none of this affects me. Like we didn't just make out on my bedroom floor two nights ago.

When I rip my eyes away, Claire's already looking at me pityingly, and I stare at the sugar and salt packets on our table because only two nights ago, I was telling her everything on a euphoric high, smiling like a fool. "Cas," She says, twirling the straw in her gin and tonic, which she ordered with admirable confidence, "Why don't you go get a drink or something? Take your mind off things,"

"Sure," I want to say and saunter up there like I'm not an underage high school senior who feels like their life just stumbled off a cliff. My charisma and confidence is so perfect and radiant, Dean who's secretly been watching me this whole time would eye me in awe, so much awe he would drop all efforts on Martha, run up to the bar, and passionately kiss me, right there in front of everyone. Instead, I slid her drink from her hands and took a sip, cringing, "I don't really possess the courage to do that right now."

"Let me tell you something, Castiel Novak," Ruby says, pointing a black fingernail at me, "Courage is in being spontaneous. Don't think, do."

I look over at Dean, who's a mere inch from Martha's lips, and I turn away quickly, "How do you not think? What about the consequences? What if they're not worth it in the long run?"

"Dude," Ruby says, "The worst thing that can happen is they kick you out. If that happens, we can just head back to Claire's," She takes a sip of her margarita, her eyes concrete ahead of her, slit eyebrow-raising. I know what she's looking at, but my mind doesn't allow me to imagine it any further. She pulls back from her drink, laughing fondly, "Well, Dean's definitely not coming home with us."

I look. Martha's fingers tangle through Dean's hair, his hands sturdy on her hips, and their mouths lock and slit together like no one else is in the room.

All I can do is turn away and attempt a proud chuckle like best friends should. Like I'm not in a completely hopeless one-sided love story with Dean Winchester.