Chapter Text
The world is an expensive place to live, and no one seems to care all that much if you can’t. Your landlord won’t renew you lease, because if he does he’d have to keep rent the same. There’s no reason for him to do that, when he could just kick you out and get an extra two hundred dollars from the next person.
So you’re cross legged on your bed, looking for somewhere new. You’ve got it filtered close to work, but there’s nothing in your budget. If you could, you’d keep living by yourself. No one to bother you. No one to be bothered by you.
If you’re desperate, maybe you can find a boyfriend to live with. Doesn’t matter if you love him, if he has a parking space. Better if he’s a little misogynistic and doesn’t let you pay rent-
No.
No.
You’re a grown woman. You can find a place to live that doesn’t turn you into a housewife. You’d be a horrible housewife. You can’t even keep yourself tidy.
But everything on Zillow is a million dollars, compared to the scraps in your bank account. You go on Craigslist, and spend half an hour weighing the cost benefit of answering this guy’s request for feet pics. He’ll pay five hundred dollars, cash. You’ve never even held five hundred dollars. If you turn it all into hundreds, you can roll around in it like Scrooge McDuck.
All while some creep on the internet jerks off to your feet.
Not worth it.
But you bookmark the tab. Just in case.
Craigslist is a dead end. You move onto one of those roommate websites, wrapping your blanket tight around your body. You’ll find something. You have to find something.
There’s a room with a rent for two hundred, but it’s a group of men looking for a woman only. Best case scenario, they’re trying to live out a sitcom. Worst case, you get a documentary.
Another room is looking for someone who’s fine with dogs that bite. The next one is hoping you’ll be able to watch her snake and water all her plants. About five more listings refuse to say the building rent, and you’re pretty sure you’ll be getting scammed. It’s past midnight. You’ve hit the studios where you’ll get your own mattress.
Then you see it.
A sparkle of gold in the water.
Six hundred dollar rent, which isn’t nothing, but the place is close enough to work and you’d only be splitting with the lister. Spacious. Free washer and dryer. Parking space. Good security. Looking for a chill roommate. No couples. Can negotiate about pets. Please don’t be an ass. Contact for info.
There’s a number listed at the bottom.
Dean.
No picture, but that’s a man’s name. You’ve lived with men before, but it had been a co-ed apartment. Just a man is gambling that he’s not a murderer.
You click on his profile. He’s a mechanic—you have no idea how much that pays, but it could be helpful if your car breaks down—and enjoys movies and food.
Maybe this is a social experiment. To see if you’re stupid enough to fall for this.
And you wouldn’t call yourself stupid. Just desperate.
You text Dean. He responds in an hour, setting up a time to meet. He doesn’t sound like a serial killer over text.
You think you can make Friday work?
Friday is perfect. Yeah. How about noon?
Would eleven be okay? Don’t want to take up your whole day :)
He uses smiley faces. That’s cute. Eleven works. Then, just to not seem like a bitch, you add, thank you. Very considerate.
You’re welcome. I was trained well.
That makes you snort. Funny, too. Does the ‘don’t be an ass’ rule apply to you as well?
He doesn’t respond for a second. You think you might’ve blown it, when your phone rings.
Of course it does. Was that what made you message.
Your lips twitch. It helped.
Knew it. There’s a pause. My friend made the ad. She thought I was joking when I suggested. Said it would drive people away.
Well, you can tell her she can suck it.
Already did.
You laugh again. Dean seems nice. He’s friends with a woman, which is a good sign. He responds quickly. Nothing that’s screaming run.
You think your heart does little flips, whenever your phone buzzes with his name. You chalk it up to an unfortunate side affect of not getting laid for months.
And the light moves, when he walks.
You notice it the first time you meet. You walk up to the building, shifting on your feet and peer at the buttons, and he’d elbowed right past you with a grunted apology.
“Sorry, gonna be late- Shit-“
He walks right into the glass.
And you like to think of yourself as at least an okay person. The kind that helps someone, when they run into a door like a bird. But you laugh at the dazed expression on his face as he stumbles back. You laugh, and you catch his arm to steady him. It makes you falter a little bit as well. He’s a lot heavier than you expect—even for someone so taller—and you have to sink your nails into his arm to stay upright. His bicep had flexes under your hand.
He grabs your wrist with a grunt, both of you finding footing at the same time, and looks you right in the eyes.
He has the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen in your damn life. His lashes might be longer than yours, the dark green almost hypnotizing, and his face-
You didn’t know men were allowed to look like that. You’re so sure that the face looking at you was from a dream. Full lips and strong features, a slightly crooked nose and, sharp clean-shaven jaw.
You blink at him slowly. Hold on a little tighter, in case this is a dream. Morning mist bites at your fingers, but his body is warm. The haze of it all makes it feel like a dream, and you lean a little forward, but-
There’s ice under your feet. You slip with a tiny yelp.
He grabs you quickly. Wide eyed with an arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer. Your ankle hurts—not a dream and his breath turns to fog over your face. Only a foot or so apart, something magnetic pulling you closer, something louder in your brain—call it a survival instinct—making you place a hand on his chest to stop yourself from melting into this complete stranger.
His mouth curves into a small grin. You stare at it, trying not to mirror the movement, then look back into his eyes.
The light moves.
“Hi.”
“Hey.” You swallow. “Are you-“
“I’m good.” He shrugs lazily. Still looking at you. “You?”
“I’m fine.” You whisper. “It’s- Happened before.”
That’s a lie. You’ve never felt anything like this, that makes your heart go to your ears and your whole body sing. It’s light by an electric fire, sparking when his thumb brushes a small line over your waist.
He must see right through you. His smile grows.
“You slip on ice while standing a lot?” He teases.
“You run into glass doors a lot?”
He stares at you for a second. You bite your tongue. You didn’t need to be that angry, that defensive, you don’t even know him and he probably thought you were some kind of standoffish bitch-
He laughs. Loud and clear, the first note of a song you think you’ve been waiting to hear all your life. Your heart had skips in your chest, and falls into a beat you’ve never felt. It feels right. He, with his arm around you and a wide smile on his face, feels right.
Then he pulls back, grabbing your arms to make sure you were steady on the ground, before coughing and rubbing the back of his neck. Still smiling. Still so close.
“Guess I don’t. Was just in a rush to get inside, I think I got someone waitin’ on me- Not like that.” He adds quickly, ears going red. “I live upstairs, and my friend moved in with her girlfriend, and my brother was crashing with his girlfriend but they found a place and now I- Never mind.” He shakes his head, making a face that you don’t fully understand.
In a year or two, you still won’t understand it. He’ll only ever make that face when he’s talking to you. And you’ll know, because you watch everything he does.
Just to see if he knows he has your heart. That it’s wrapped around his hands, to pull and play with however he pleases. That he grabbed it when he caught you slipping, and he’d left a depression on your body where he’d touched you so easily. Fit so perfectly. You watch him all the time, because there’s nothing better than just watching someone you love.
You don’t know you love him now. You only know that he’d seems nervous, and it’s sweet. You know his face is confused and adorable, even if you aren’t able to place why.
He extends his hand, an almost sheepish smile on his face.
“Dean Winchester.” He says. “That’s- My name.”
You would giggle, if you weren’t so busy panicking.
Dean Winchester.
You don’t understand why he didn’t put up a picture. A face like that could’ve made an angel fall from heaven, just to stand at his side.
You say your own name softly, and watch it hit him. You slip your hand into his, fingers shaking—the cold or nerves, you’re still not sure—and he still feels right. So right. His fingers are wrapped, safe and firm around yours. In another life you wonder if he would’ve pulled you forward into his arms.
But you don’t live in that life. You live where he needs a roommate, and you needed a place to live, and that was more important than anything else. That wasn’t something you had the luxury to jeopardize, even for Dean.
And you’ll know soon. You’d jeopardize a lot of things for Dean.
“I think you’re supposed to be waitin’ upstairs for me.” He rasps, and you laugh weakly.
“I couldn’t get in the building.”
“Oh- Uh- Right.” He glances at the doors. Still holding your hand.
You don’t want him to let go.
“At least you’re not late.” You say with a smile, and he looks back to you.
His eyes shine, and in the mist, he’d still looked like an angel. A little more solid and real, but somehow less tangible. A little further away, but right in your hands at the same time. The light moves. He chuckles, and it moves something deep in your chest. Something final, shifting where it was always supposed to be.
“Yeah.” He says. “I guess I’m not.”