![]() ![]() Every time he adjusted his shirts in class he felt the whisper of Dean's hands on his sides and had to shift, glancing around. His skin was sticky with kisses, and the little bruises under his collar starting to become a pain to cover up. Every day since was as blinding and brilliant as the sun and as the heat set in, so did Dean. ![]() It was the heat of summer now Cas slept on the the sheets tangled at his feet - the April party was a distant memory. Whatever time it was held no meaning anymore and his brain had discarded it. The truth was Cas could never answer because he'd forgotten it there was no real before Dean. ![]() What corner of the world he had been hiding in for so long, and Cas would always find it easier to kiss him than to say. Dean never stopped asking Cas where he had been before they met. Dean would often stop and stare at him, his eyes wide and wondering, as if he was just seeing Cas for the first time all over again, like was suddenly rediscovering him, and his face would melt into something so. Before his hands or his mouth or his eyes, before these things slid over his body and touched him and adored him. He wasn't there, and then the next day he was, and Cas couldn't remember the hours before him. There was something so mindlessly ordinary about it, like Dean was just another fixture, just another glass in his cupboard that he had begun using. It was all so painless, falling in love with Dean. ![]()
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