Rain drops skitter down the windows of the Impala, the hood of the black car bombarded with glittering raindrops. And although Dean should be waiting in the driver’s seat, waiting where it’s dry, he leans against the side of the car, holding a hand over his head, deflecting a couple of the little drizzling droplets, the rest all soaking into his borrowed black suit.
He licks his lips, anxiously checking his watch. The clock reads ten past seven, ten minutes later than Castiel said he’d be. He sighs, shutting his eyes as he lightly bangs a fist against the side of the car, not nearly enough to harm his beloved baby, and not nearly enough to express his frustration.
It’s Lawrence High’s Prom Night, the biggest night for all the seniors, and Dean crept out of the shadows of his aloof image with the guts to ask the most popular boy in school—Castiel Novak—to go with him, never really specifying whether they were arriving as friends or dates. Dean thinks of it as a date, but it’s still hard for people to really think of men hugging. It’s the damn seventies so it should be alright, but kids at school still look at Mrs Mosely funny.
He looks down at his clothes, dotted with water. Puddles form around his feet, rippling as the shower goes on. He stomps a foot in one of them, making a little splash as he shoves his hands in his pockets. It’s all a joke, probably. He’s probably being stood up because it’s weird to go with another boy to the prom. Especially coming from a family of religious nuts. Dean’s just a sucker.
Dean thinks about getting in the car, getting in and driving home, ripping off his monkey suit and sulking in his room for a while, but he can’t bring himself to move. No, he keeps waiting, convincing himself that Castiel is simply running late. Castiel is far too nice of a guy to stand another up—male or female—he’s too sweet to say no, he’s too polite to bow down. Besides, if what Mr Shurley mentioned is true, Dean is the first person anyone has seen Castiel smile at. That needs to mean they have something, right?
“Fuck…” He mutters, shutting his eyes. He’s already drenched, so much that he’ll probably ruin the upholstery if he dares climb into the driver’s seat. And the rain’ll probably get worse before it gets better, meaning that if Dean’s going to wait it out he could be loitering under the street light for hours, maybe even all night. So much for goddamn high school memories.
Then, without warning, two fingers tap under his chin, the warm pads sliding against moist skin, settling right under the bone. They tilt his head up, Dean’s eyes opening as his gaze rises from the ground up a body, one wearing a dark suit beneath a beaten trenchcoat, and finally meeting two bright blue eyes, blazing and brilliant.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Castiel quietly says, smiling. He digs in one of the deep pockets of his coat, fishing out a rosy corsage, the kind a guy normally gives to the girl, some goofy gesture that Dean always thought was kind of stupid. At least until Castiel hands him the crimson flowers, beads of rain embedded in the petals. Then again, Dean kind of feels really stupid right now. Really, really stupid, “Anna said I should give this to you.”
Dean opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Dean Winchester who always has something to say can’t even choke out a single sound.
Castiel bites his lip, “Let me reiterate: Anna said this is something couples do, and I thought it was appropriate,” His hand trembles a little, anxiety creeping up on him, voicing out something that’s obviously too hard for him to say, holding back a lot. He folds in his lower lip, gaze starting to wander. Slowly, he starts retracting the corsage, muttering, “I’m sorry; I made you uncomfortable…”
“Hey,” Dean grabs his hand, catching him before he can back away. A warm grin curves on his lips, olive shimmering as Castiel’s eyes return to him, “Prom’s the other way, loverboy.”
Even with hair flattened and damp, Castiel’s smile is brighter than any sunlight.