Dearest you...

X

September 21

    Dean had multiple problems as of this early Saturday afternoon, every single one happened to be about his wardrobe—or lack thereof.

    "Ah, fuckin' hell," the blonde huffed in frustration. "I can't find anything but flannels."

    "And this surprises you because..?" the younger Winchester smirked, leaning against the door frame. "And why are you so worked up, anyway? I haven't seen you like this since that first date with Lisa, which wasn't even half this bad."

    "Why don't you actually be useful and make lunch?" Dean shot a glare from his shoulder.

    "Wait, is this what this is? You're meeting up with Lisa?"

    "No, with this guy, Castiel, in the park." he sighed, still rummaging through his closet.

    "You're going on a date with this Castiel dude?" Sam's raised an eyebrow.

    The older Winchester scoffed, "What? No, it's not a date."

    "Hmm, I don't know, Dean. You can keep fooling everyone else, but not your heart." the other shrugged, then left his brother to his thoughts and scattered clothes.

Dean's brows furrowed in confusion as he finally picked out his not-flannel outfit for the "not-date" later.

Why do people keep saying stuff like that to me?

*•*•*•*

Castiel took one last look in the mirror, brushing out any lint and smoothing out any wrinkle on his clothes. He checked his watch for only the thousandth time today, and decided to go, wanting to always be punctual.

The brunette took his favorite trench coat off the rack, and headed out the door. But not before Gabe wished him luck on his "date", also for the thousandth time. Poor Cas had to adamantly deny it as a date to his teasing brother as he left.

From there, the Novak walked to the park. It wasn't far from his house (thank goodness) and he left pretty early, so there was no rush. And when he got there, he looked around, assuming that the other still hadn't arrived. But it was a surprise to find the undeniable sight of the Winchester's sandy-blonde hair.

All the teasing, and arguing, and convincing, all boiled down to this moment: Dean Winchester. On that wooden bench. In his tight black t-shirt under his maroon button-down. And his fitted dark jeans. With his wind-blown hair. And just... oh my.

Castiel swallowed a lump in his throat, summed up his courage, and hoped for, well, he didn't really know what.

Why on Earth did I agree to this again?

•~•~•~•

BW_623: It's 6 am and I don't really know how I made this chapter in the last... 1 or 2 hour(s)? Buuuut I hope y'all enjoy ;)