midnight hour at a coffee shop

The midnight crowd sure is a depressing one.

Hello!

This is going to be a very angsty and also fluffy, this story is by no means done and i will be posting more chapters soon.

i'm sorry for any grammar/spelling mistakes i am still looking for a beta.

i hope you enjoy!

        There isn’t a lot you could say about Seattle Washington, it has bland weather, and the people are okay. But one thing you could say without any doubt is that we really like our coffee. Now yes that is a very cliche thing to say. We also have interesting music, nice restaurants and even some pretty cool parks. But one of the biggest things, and to this story one of the most important things about Seattle is our coffee. Specifically our coffee shops. 

        Somewhere in Seattle there is a coffee shop, it isn't really a good one, the coffee is average and the staff usually keeps to themselves. They have comfy chairs and large windows that look over the mildly busy streets. The only difference between this mediocre business and every other one, is that it stays open till two am every night. Which is how Dean Winchester found himself half asleep, feeling absolutely empty, walking into this coffee shop at twelve am. 

        Dean was exhausted, and he wished he could just back to his own apartment. But he couldn’t, things were messy there. Dean hated messy, hated things he didn't understand, hated when he had to focus in on exactly what he was feeling and why. It was better that he just ignored those feelings, or push them as far out of mind as possible. He wished he could get away from all of that messiness for good. But sadly he couldn’t, sometimes he could only get away for a few hours, and it looked like Dean had found his safe haven for those few hours.

        The coffee house was nearly empty expect for some old man. Who had one too many layers on to be comfortable in this warm climate, a woman with ridiculously bright red hair and a way to large smile for someone who was working the graveyard shift at a coffee shop on a tuesday. And then there was another guy, sitting perched in front of a computer, some hipsterish navy blue scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, along with a pair of large thick rimmed glasses. Dean strode over to the lady ordering his usual black coffee with room for cream, Dean didn't know why he always left room for Cream, he never actually got any cream instead just left more space in the cup. It was ridiculous that he did such a thing, but he couldn't bring himself to change it. 

        Dean took the hot cup of coffee into his hands not bothering to get a sleeve for it, seeing as he was already cold, and relished the way the warmth of the coffee slightly burned his finger tips. the feeling of only the heat pushing out any other feeling. Dean had always liked warm better then cold, always preferred to wear three sweaters and a leather jacket, then to have to deal with being cold, his father might call it being weak, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care. 

        Dean moved to sit at the counter top that over looked the street. There were barely any people out. A few sad drunks wobbling to their respectable vehicles, in which there was a high chance that they would probably get in some sort of senseless accident. There was a woman holding a child across the street. The woman seemed cold, she was wearing a small dress that stopped just above her knees, her hair slicked into a tight ponytail, and she was wearing sun glasses. At night. Dean couldn't help but wonder who  wore sun glasses at night. Assholes that’s who. The child of the woman was tugging at her arm weakly, obviously throwing some sort of tiny tantrum that Dean could not hear from this distance. All in all the midnight crowd sure was a depressing one. 

        Dean eventually got bored of his little people watching game when the woman finally payed attention to her child. So he turned around, his gaze moving throughout  the bland coffee shop, his eyes zoning in on the most interesting suspect. Mister 'i don’t care that my pants are probably cutting off my circulation'. The boy had nearly jet black hair, shot up in all directions. He had a little bit of muscle, but wasn't exactly what Dean would call buff. Mildly pale skin as if he spent all of his time inside looking at that damn computer, and if he did who exactly was Dean to judge.  

        Everything else was hidden either by the lap top or by the small wooden table. But when the boy looked up Dean almost dropped his coffee. It was cliche really, but the boys eyes were insanely blue. It was as if god had been drunk when he had been applying the pigments to the guys eyes. And suddenly it sank in that the guy was staring back at him. Or that more importantly Dean had been caught staring.

fuck

the guy probably thinks i am some perverted stalker 

        But then the boy raised one eyebrow as if issuing some sort of challenge, as if trying to egg Dean on to say something. Anything. And boy did Dean want to, he wanted to strike up some sort of conversation, hear this mystery boys voice, here how he spoke. But of course Dean, suddenly overtaken by an uncharacteristic awkward shyness and instead just grabbed his coffee.

well what would be the good about talking to him anyway, I mean look at yourself.

        Dean eyes finally dropped away from This odd boy, letting him win this round of the apparent staring contest that they had both unknowingly entered. 

       About a half an hour later Dean had finally finished his coffee and begrudgingly got up and headed out the door, the cold air shocking him for a second before he continued to walk, climbing into his impala without any grace or finesse, and drove back to the crappy apartment he had been trying to get away from in the first place.