It's Complicated

Chapter Three

Dean finishes Player Piano that week, reading during every spare minute he can get. When he shows up at the bookstore just before close several days later, the CLOSED sign is already hanging on the door, and he can see Castiel busying about inside, straightening things and cashing out his till. He takes a minute to watch the other man, a mantra of Is it or isn't it? running through his brain, before rapping his knuckles on the door, Castiel's book clutched tightly in his grip.

Castiel looks up and moves across the store, unlocking the door and permitting Dean inside. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, looking around the dimmed store. "I coulda met you at your apartment, you know."

Castiel quirks a smile. "I live upstairs," he offers.

"Oh."

"I'm almost done," Castiel informs Dean, moving back behind the register and finishing his tasks. "What did you think of the book?" He seems so at ease, like he and Dean have done this a thousand times, that Dean thinks maybe this isn't a date.

Dean drapes himself over the counter, folding his arms over the top of it, mirroring Castiel's relaxed persona. "It wasn't as out there as I expected," he says.

Castiel nods, his eyes focused on the dollar bills in his hands.

"I still like Slaughterhouse better, but this one wasn't too bad."

Castiel smirks. "I see."

When he's finished closing the store, he leads Dean to the back and through a door that opens up to a staircase. It's dark, no windows, and when they reach the top, the only way to go is through a door on the right.

"Did Marv live up here, too?" Dean wonders as Castiel fiddles with the lock.

"Not that I'm aware of. It looked fairly unused when I moved in."

When the door does spring open, Dean follows Castiel inside and is struck by how much the apartment matches the store. There are books everywhere, stacked along the walls, piled next to furniture, tucked in corners...

"You keep what won't fit down there up here, or what?" Dean asks as they wind along Castiel's apartment.

"No, these are mine."

"All these are yours?"

"Yes. Please sit." Castiel gestures to the couch where there are, surprisingly, no books, and Dean obeys. Aside from the disarray of literature, the apartment is relatively clean, the distinct smell of cinnamon hanging in the air.

Castiel disappears around a corner, popping his head back in the room after a beat. "What kind of tea would you like?" he asks.

Dean rubs at the back of his neck. "I don't know. I've never uh- Never had tea before." Sam's tried to get him to drink it, but each time Dean's blatantly refused, stating his plain, black coffee was more than fine.

"I'll make orange," Castiel decides.

He disappears again and Dean can hear the sounds of the other man brewing tea in what Dean assumes is the kitchen. When he reappears, he settles into the armchair just across from Dean.

"You got something against bookcases?"

Castiel looks around the apartment. "I never anticipated acquiring so many books," he confesses. "I didn't think I'd ever have a need for shelves."

"Stuff like that sure does have a way of sneaking up on you," Dean agrees. Castiel smiles at him warmly and nods.

After that the tea timer is going off, and Castiel excuses himself again. As Dean waits, the orange tabby from the week before saunters into the room. She leaps onto the chair Castiel was just occupying and settles herself there, eyes glaring warningly at Dean as if to say, He's my human. Back off.

Castiel returns with two mugs in hand. As he hands one to Dean, Dean motions towards the cat. "I don't think you're cat likes me very much."

Castiel shoos her off the furniture and sits down. "Bumblebee doesn't like anyone very much," he says.

"She seems to like you alright."

The corners of Castiel's mouth tug up. "Yes, well. I do feed her. I think her love may be obligatory."

"Nah," Dean counters, "you're just a likeable guy." 

A hint of a smile settles on Castiel's lips. "Thank you, Dean." He lifts his mug to his mouth, taking a swallow, and Dean realizes he should do the same. Castiel invited him up for tea, Dean probably needs to drink the tea.

The liquid is warm, spicy, with a sweet flavor Dean wasn't expecting, and he holds it in his mouth for a beat, letting all the different flavors roll over his taste buds before swallowing.

"What do you think?" Castiel wonders. He's eyeing Dean like his opinion is of the utmost importance.

"It's really good," Dean admits. "It's sweet. I thought it'd taste more like... dirt."

Castiel looks satisfied. "I used a vanilla-infused honey."

"Ah," Dean says with a nod. Up until now he had no idea there was even such a thing as vanilla-infused honey. "Excellent choice," he offers.

Castiel chuckles. "Let's start from the beginning shall we?"

The rest of the evening is surprisingly relaxed. Dean forgets all about whether or not he and Castiel are on a date and ends up opening up a whole lot more than he anticipated, getting more passionate about a book than he's probably ever been.

Castiel listens with a focused precision Dean's only ever thought marksmen possessed, his blue eyes sharp, drinking everything in like Dean's word is his gospel. It's almost exhilarating sharing his opinion with someone who genuinely seems to want to hear it, and their conversation floats from Player Piano to Slaughterhouse-Five and well on into their personal lives: what it's like owning a business (which they have in common), tidbits about their families, and even a little bit about the farmer's market Castiel frequents on the weekends.

Dean doesn't leave until nearing midnight, and when he does, there's a long pause at the door, his fingers itching to reach out and grab Castiel by the waistcoat and kiss him until they can't remember their own names. Instead he mumbles some lame good bye and shows himself to his car, letting his head fall to the steering wheel once he's tucked safely inside.

Date or not, Dean's pretty sure that drawn out silence-and-staring number at the door was his opportunity, and he basically just dropped it in the toilet and flushed it right on down to the sewer of missed opportunities.

He'll probably never hear from Castiel again.