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Dean’s next door neighbor is going to fucking kill him. He thinks. They don’t tend to mix much, even though their apartment doors are side-by-side in the quaint, renovated Victorian house. 

Dean’s been looking for his cat, Lucifer, since the night before. The bastard had door dashed when Dean returned from work, and never showed up despite him shaking bags of treats and making dumbass kissy noises all over the neighborhood.

Lucifer’s back, and he’s having a staring contest with Castiel Milton. God’s gift to Dean’s monochrome life. Castiel is just… everything Dean covets, really. Dark hair tinged with electric blue, thick black glasses, nose ring, fully pierced left ear, and an explosion of color up his entire right arm. Dean’s never seen the tattoo completely, but it looks like angels bathed in cool tones fighting demons in warm tones in splashes of watercolor.

He’s also smoking a Marlboro Light, the white filter of the cigarette casually hanging out of his mouth; stuck to his pale lips in a way that makes Dean want to kiss the life out of him.

He cringes when Castiel, face pinched in his usual grumpy-murderous look, reaches towards the cat. Please don’t hurt my cat, he prays.

To his utter shock, Castiel strokes the top of the Scottish fold’s head so incredibly gently with his knuckles, then he follows the movement forward, stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray on the porch railing, and kisses the cat right between his eyes.

Dean’s whole body stutters as he approaches the porch stairs. He doesn’t think Castiel has seen him yet. But he has.

Without removing his pale blue gaze from the cat, Castiel says in a gravel-rough voice Dean’s sure he’s never heard before because he doesn’t remember feeling these butterflies before, “why would you name a cat Lucifer?”

“Because cats are devils,” Dean answers easily, really about to swallow his tongue. “Awesome little devils.”

Castiel’s gaze shifts up and it freezes Dean in place, even though his body is on fire. “Dean Winchester, apartment two. I’m Cas Milton, apartment one.”

“Yeah… I know. Don’t think we’ve ever spoken before. Sorry about that.” Not for the lack of trying, his brain stage whispers. Castiel just seems so… above. Scary, too. He’s intense. And Dean gets the impression that Castiel has found something lacking in Dean by the way his gaze sharpens. 

He can barely look at Castiel. It’s like staring into the sun. He’d always thought it was a stupid cliche, until it wasn’t anymore.

Therefore he’s struck dumb when Castiel says haltingly, “thank you.”

Dean looks up and is rooted by something his brain won’t process. Castiel is staring at Dean with a red face and wide, earnest blue eyes. “For?” Dean prompts hoarsely. What is HAPPENING?!

“Back… when…” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck. Is he… embarrassed? No way. No fucking way. “When I first moved in,” he rushes on. “You brought me the…” he cups his hands. “The cupcakes. From the local bakery. Left them hanging on the door with the lovely welcome note. They were good. I never thanked you. I didn’t know how.”

Slowly, Dean steps up onto the porch, resting his hip against the railing. “How do you not know how to say thanks? Not that I’m accusing you, or nothing. I’m just surprised.”

Castiel shifts on his foot, arresting eyes falling to his combat boots. “I’m not a people person. I don’t easily relate to others. And you were…” he balls his fists and smacks them against his thighs. “You were irritatingly hot.”

Dean laughs, startled and happy. At least he knows Castiel doesn’t hate him. “I’m not anymore?” The wink is too irresistible to hold back.

If possible, Castiel’s face gets redder. His shoulders hunch. “That’s not what I meant,” he mumbles. “You still are.”

In his distraction, Dean’s almost lost track of Lucifer, who’s starting to get bored. He grabs the cat and drapes him over his shoulder before he can make a second mad escape. “I gotta get this bastard inside, but, like, hey, do you wanna come in? Hang out?”

Castiel blinks up at him looking pleased. “Yes, Dean, I would. I think we would get along if we… hung out. Thank you.”

Grinning, Dean nods over his shoulder. “Come on in.” He thrills at the sound of Castiel’s heavy boots clomping behind him. And if he gives Lucifer an extra chin scratch and treats for bringing about this incredible turn of events, no one needs to be the wiser.