mr. perfect

ix) dorm five sixty two

"Cas, where do you think you're going?" Dean saunters up to Cas, at the end of the day. 

"To my dorm."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Wrong answer."

Cas tilts his head to the side, lost and a bit confused. 

"We're going out--" Dean suddenly coughs violently. He turns away from Cas for a second. Dean's lungs burned. 

"Dean--" Castiel rests a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Dean says, eyes a bit watery. He wasn't crying; sometimes when he coughed to hard, they did that. "We--we're going to do something fun."

Cas smiled. "Like what? I have a lot of homework--"

"Loosen up. You work hard all the time," Dean counters. 

"I don't know if I can," Cas says disappointed. "I have a huge essay tomorrow."

Dean exhales slowly, thoughtfully. "Then I guess you'll just have to invite me over, angel, because I'm not leaving," he smirks. 

Dean saw something flicker through those beautiful blue eyes Cas had. "I won't bite," Dean adds. "Not unless you want me to," he says, under his breath, so that Cas couldn't hear. 

"I don't know if I'll get much work done around you," Cas says boldly. 

Dean smirks. "Are you saying I'm a distraction?"

"No! I--" Cas stops hismself, flustered. He waves his hand in frustration. "You're--I. Nevermind."

"Come on, say it," Dean dares. I love it when he's at a loss for words, Dean thought. It's adorable.

"I don't know how I feel about you... seeing where I live yet," Cas mumbles. 

Dean raises his chin, and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Moral, Christian. I bet you're a virgin, too, huh?"

Cas is rendered speechless. 

Dean chuckles. "I'm right, aren't I? The only thing not screaming virgin about you is the alcohol I put in your drinks."

Cas is blushing furiously. "Fine. Come on over. It's dorm room number 562."

* * *

"Nice place," Dean says, jumping onto Cas's small bed. Cas sits in his desk, trying to clean up his mess. 

Dean notices something in the trash can. He walks over to it and Cas goes stiff. "Dean, there's nothing in there--" he says, panicked. 

Dean takes a piece of crumpled paper out of the trash can. It's a painting of him. But there's smeared paint and the eyes are vibrant green. The jawline is sharp. Dean feels something hurt inside his chest. 

Cas buries his head in his hands. 

Dean picks up another crumpled paper. Another. Another. All of Dean. They're all beautiful. Not him, per se, Dean thought. But the art involved and the time it must've took Cas to take-- the whole garbage can is filled with these attempts. 

"I couldn't get the green in your eyes right," Cas mumbled.