Dean looked at his own sloppy handwriting on the paper, checking once again just in case he had, hopefully, come to the wrong address. But no, this was the right building. Then he wondered; maybe he didn’t write down the right address? Well, not a possibility either, he had heard clearly every detail on that phone call. So he just took a deep breath and walked into the building.
It didn’t even have an elevator. The guy said it was on the second floor at least. But what if he needed to go upstairs? Maybe to the roof to jump out of desperation, living in such a miserable place.
Stop it. It’s temporary. And it’s the only thing you can afford right now, you idiot.
He walked into the lobby, and it wasn’t as bad as it looked from outside, but it wasn’t exactly decent either. He climbed the creaking stairs until he reached the second floor, and walked through the hallway until he found the door with the right number on it. He knocked twice and stood there in silence, waiting. He wasn’t famous for his patience, though, so he knocked again after just 10 seconds.
“I’m coming! Hang on, just- Ugh, dammit- Just a minute!” Said a rough voice from the other side of the door.
Dean frowned when it was a different voice than the one he had heard on the phone. This one was way deeper, and a little bit of interest surfaced in Dean’s mind.
The door flew open then, and Dean couldn’t help but stare at the guy behind it.
Blue eyes met his, and he couldn’t decide if they were the same color as the ocean or the color of the sky in the middle of a summer day. His eyes kept exploring to find strong features, high cheekbones and light stubble around plump, pink lips, and dark chaotic hair that implied the guy had just left the shower. The dark shirt he was wearing stuck to his wet skin, allowing Dean to appreciate his lean figure and a bit of skin that peeked out beneath the hem, his sweatpants clinging to his hips.
The guy cleared his throat, snapping Dean back to the real world, and he said with a soft, barely-there smirk on his face, “Hello, I’m Castiel. You must be Dean. Am I correct?”
Dean’s mouth hung open for a couple of seconds longer, then he shut his jaw tight and cleared his throat, to then reply, “Yeah, that’s me, I- uh- You’re looking for a roommate, right?”
“That’s correct. Come in, please.” Castiel opened the door wider and Dean walked in.
The apartment wasn’t as bad as the rest of the building, but maybe that was because of Castiel. The walls seemed to be recently painted in creamy white, and had beautiful paintings, from abstract to some that Dean almost believed were actually pictures. The furniture seemed to be secondhand, the fabric a little wasted from years of usage, but that didn’t mean it didn’t look nice. It had small windows, which would make the place dark, but there were a couple of lamps in each corner, and an old TV that still had knobs instead of buttons connected to a VCR and with an antena on top, along one wall. A little old school, aren’t we?
That was, at least, the living room at first sight.
“Woah, you made it look like a good place.” Dean commented, turning back to look at Castiel again.
“Thank you.” Castiel’s smile was barely noticeable, but Dean found it just adorable. “I finished unpacking just yesterday, I’ve been here for about a week and a half.”
“For real? Looks like you’ve put a whole lot of effort into this.” Dean was sincerely fascinated. He wouldn’t mind living here, with this guy, being able to see him 24/7. He wouldn’t admit it, but Cas’ face seemed to be addictive to Dean.
“I had help, my brother Gabriel helped me painting the walls and carrying the furniture.”
“Maybe he was the one I talked to on the phone? ‘Cause it sure as hell wasn’t your voice.” Dean lifted his eyebrows.
“Yes, definitely, he was the one to publish the advertisement too, and he probably would like to meet you before settling on any arrangement.” Castiel suggested, getting a look from Dean. “That is, of course, if you decide to stay.”
“Yeah, all right.” Dean said, glancing away in an attempt to not look too weird with the constant staring. “Would you give me a tour?”
Castiel started and nodded. “Yes! Of course. Sorry. Just- Follow me.” He closed the front door and walked into the corridor with Dean behind him.
Castiel showed him around. The living room and the kitchen were separated only by a large counter, with a small dinner table on the kitchen side. The first door in the corridor was the bathroom, and Castiel indicated they would have to share it since it was the only one in the apartment (“Let’s just make sure not to have burritos for dinner too often.” Joked Dean, Castiel chuckled lightly). The next door was some kind of studio, it had no windows and it barely measured around six feet by six feet, Dean calculated. Castiel had mentioned then that he was an artist and that he would like to have it for his work, and Dean made clear that he wouldn’t have any issues with that. The next two doors, on the opposite of the corridor, were the rooms. Castiel had already settled in one of them, but still showed both to Dean in case he would like to switch. They were, in fact, the exact same but mirrored, so Dean said he could settle with the spare one.
Once they were back in the living room, Castiel turned to Dean again. “So, what do you think?”
Dean got lost in those blue eyes again. He certainly did not know why, but they seemed to be heavenly and made him feel like accepting would be his best choice in life.
“Well, I think it’s great.” Dean shrugged, looking around and appreciating the beautiful living room once again. “I like it. You have any other offers to consider?”
“Actually, no.” Castiel winced, his eyes squinting and his lips pursed. “You’re, in fact, the only apparently decent person that has come, out of 7 visitors.”
“Apparently?” Dean laughed a little, making Castiel blush lightly.
“Well, it doesn’t matter how you look, you still could be a serial killer looking for another victim.” Castiel shrugged, then his eyes widened. “Please, tell me you’re not.”
Dean laughed some more before replying. “Don’t worry, that’s my side job for the weekends, but I don’t like to bring work home.”
When Castiel frowned and his jaw clenched, Dean had to stop laughing to explain: “Cas, I’m joking, don’t worry. I don’t do murder.”
Castiel flinched lightly at the nickname, but then smiled, relaxed. “I’m glad you’re not. One of the visitors actually asked me if the police come around often. That definitely meant something.”
They shared a laugh, then Cas kept going, “So, do we have a deal?”
A small smile took place on Dean’s face, “Yeah. Let’s discuss terms, then I’ll sign the papers or whatever.”