a l c o h o l & l o v e ↬ d.w. & c.n. [completed]

4 | chatting

small water drops were failing from his whole body and his muscles were shaking.
castiel knew that problems would never drown themselves. but still he prayed.
the white sand stuck to his wet body. the earlier nice feeling of sand between his toes, grew more and more uncomfortable with any second now.

he kneed in front of the ocean, hands clutched together, and waves dashing against his legs. pleading to god for something like mercy, or happiness.
salty water ran down his sharp cheek bones, tears mixed with the sea.

even as he had finished his prayer, castiel wouldn't move until he felt like it was the right time.
his heart beat faster. and his knees were weak.

*

he climbed back inside the cold, not decorated room.
times like these where times he wished to still live with his parents. but both lived far away in the next big city.
every month they payed for castiel's living in the small house, nearly not more than a cabin, on the beach.
maybe the town was small but the options for an artistic lifestyle were nearly endless.
castiel should get the best education, and his parents were happy to pay for it.

not caring about the sand he brought into the room, he stepped towards his bed to grab the bottle of scotch next to it. he felt his eyelids as they grew heavier, his hole body was exhausted but still his lips clutched to the neck of the bottle until he felt his tongue aching from the high percentage alcohol.
after big gulps he felt his stomach working.

*

trough his red eyes he saw the new message on the phone display. the bright screen burned inside his eyes.
he had one call and two messages from a unknown number.

*

he sat outside, leaning against his window, toes in the sand.
between his fingertips a cigarette burned. and his eyes fixated the new messages on his phone for a while now.

his eyes, throat and lips burned. his muscles ached, his fingertips felt the ash of the cigarette coming closer and his head pumped, yet still he started at the display

i don't think you're already sleeping, don't you wanna talk? At least you kinda promised me a story.

oh btw here's dean

with fast fingers he typed in his response.

    his palm rubbed against his eye, trying to make the tears, which the mislead smoke of his cigarette and a bright screen caused, disappear.

**

i never promised anything
   dean stared at his the screen. it took castiel 30 minutes to answer. and now he seemed passive.

wow.
sensitive much.

what did i promise?

nothing really

so i was right?

but still rude
however
you still own me an explanation then
why don't you like your art?

i told you it's hard to explain

and i told you try me

i want to draw you again

*

   dean stared again. he felt strangely complimented as he read the last message castiel had sent him.
draw me then

  yet he questioned why the way castiel looked at him with the brush in his hand, the palette in the other, and color stains on his shirts, fascinated him so much.
he felt like being watched by two people at once.

   one that looked at him like an artist would. seeing the colors in his skin, trying the best to mix them in a realistic way. how the shape of his body functioned in still movement. how his muscles formed him.
    how the scars and damages on his skin made the piece more interesting, only purely interesting at this point, on this one stage.

the other stage was different and firstly made the piece come to life.
   because the second person looked at dean winchester with sympathy and worry for his well being. then castiel's eyes did not look for the form of his body or the way his muscles moved, but for the story behind the way he moved and behind the scars.

   dean winchester liked being looked at as art and a person. it was something new to him.

draw me and then explain to me why you don't like your painting.

okay.

cool, art class is next tuesday right?

you need to come to my place.
i can't stand people around me when i draw.

well then
send me time and location

**

castiel wondered how he could explain to dean that he did not like his pieces.
   he had many reasons, but he knew exactly what the most important one was. and he feared that dean would look trough his lie if he tried to put a wrong reason in line for his struggle.

but how could he explain to dean that he did not like his paintings of him because they could not show his beautiful person without the story behind the scars to make the piece finished.
   castiel knew that there was a story behind them, and the story would bring the painting to life.

yet he had no clue what the story could be.