#writing friends to lovers fic is how I produce my serotonin sorry y'all

[one-more-offbeat-anthem]

The first time is an accident. 

Dean’s had a shit week, so when Cas comes over to watch a movie, Dean pulls out more booze than normal. By the time one am rolls around, they’re both lying in Dean’s bed, with Cas’ feet propped up against the wall, drunker than a pair of skunks while they argue about seventies music. 

When Dean wakes up the next morning, it’s to the heavy weight of Cas halfway on top of him. There’s something stuck in his throat at the sight of his best friend, hair everywhere, breathing against his collarbone. Dean decides to act like it’s not a big deal, because it’s not, right? It’s Cas, and hanging out with Cas is easier than breathing. 

The second time is an invitation.

Cas comes over to watch the season premiere of NCIS with Dean, and, as they’re wont to do, they stay up too late and maybe have one beer too many, and Cas isn’t safe to drive home. He tries to sleep on the couch, but Dean’s nerves are loosened by the alcohol and he offers Cas the other side of his bed, no sweat. 

This time when Dean wakes up, they’re spooning, with Cas tucked up against Dean, his nose on Dean’s neck. Even with the weight of the blankets, hot and thick, it’s kind of perfect, so Dean decides to act like it’s nothing again. After all, it’s still Cas.

The third time is an assumption, and it is a big deal, but not because of Dean.

Their whole friend group does rotating game night, and this time it’s at Dean’s apartment. Dean’s starting to notice a theme--his friends come over, everyone gets drunk, it’s not safe to drive home, they spend the night. What’s different is that he and Cas have shared a bed now, and when their friend Charlie starts assigning everyone sleeping spaces, because she just does stuff like that, takes charge, she throws out that Cas and Dean can sleep in Dean’s bed.

And they can, they have before, except now their whole friend group is watching, and Dean’s stomach clenches, but then everyone scatters, so Dean just grabs Cas by the hoodie sleeve and pulls him to his bedroom. 

Normally Cas is an animated chatterbox, even when he’s drunk or deliriously sleepy (especially then, and it’s maybe-kinda-sorta adorable), but tonight he’s dead silent and even turns away from Dean as he puts his pajamas on. He lays next to Dean in the bed, stiff as a board. 

Dean lasts about three and a half minutes before he rolls over to face Cas, reaching out a hand to touch Cas’ wrist. Cas startles.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” Dean frowns, even though he knows Cas can barely see him in the dark. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re--what? Dude, you haven’t done anything wrong.” Dean moves his fingers from touching Cas’ wrist to holding it loosely. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“You have?” Dean cocks an eyebrow. 

“I haven’t?” Cas’ brow is furrowed, Dean can tell, despite the inky blackness of his room.

“I would tell you if you made me uncomfortable. Why would you think that?” “I dunno, maybe in front of our friends it looked like...something’s going on?”

“Do you want something to be going on?” Dean asks.

“Do you?” Cas counters. 

And, well, yeah. 

The answer to that is yeah, Dean does. And has for a while. But Cas is one: his best friend and two: one of kind. There aren’t a ton of Castiel Miltons just lying around. Dean’s pretty sure Cas is the only person anything like himself: a bumblebee-obsessed librarian who holds his liquor better than anyone Dean’s met, who also likes to kickbox and has a cat named Merlin and can’t cook for shit. Who gets the ugliest and most threadbare sweaters at the thrift store because no one else will buy them, Dean, who pretends to like Led Zeppelin for Dean’s benefit, who drives the most fuck-ugly gold vintage car on the planet, who never, ever, ever brushes his hair, who likes tea over coffee, who--

“Dean?”

Dean’s half-drunk brain is still attempting to track the conversation, so he decides it’ll be a genius idea to try and kiss Cas, except it’s dark, and Dean misses by...a lot, hitting Cas’ jawline sideways. For some reason, that sends him into a fit of gut-splitting laughter, and--

“Shhhh, Dean, everyone else is trying to sleep!”

“S-sorry,” Dean says, fighting past his delirium, and he starts laughing again, and then Cas is kissing him, properly, with a good amount of force. They break apart after a moment and Dean brings a hand up to Cas’ cheek. “Trying to shut me up?”

“Usually, yeah.”

“Asshole.”

“Uh-huh.” And then Cas is kissing him again, and that’s that. 

(The fourth time they share a bed, it’s routine.)