#This is just regular lovestruck pathetic man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fuckyeahkosukeniwa · 3 years

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Of all the times to forget what he was supposed to do!

The chattering crowd pressed against him on all sides, making the summer heat positively boiling. Not many seemed to mind; their eager eyes turned upwards, waiting for the man of the hour to make his dramatic appearance. Yellow police tape separated them from the nervous officers, clutching their radios and holding their breath like everyone else.

Only one head of spiky black hair looked down. Kosuke searched his empty pockets for any clue about his role in tonight's heist. Emiko and her father wouldn't have sent him out here without a plan.

The mass of people let out a roar of cheers. Dark was here already!?

Kosuke pushed his way to the side of the crowd, only taking one elbow to the face in the process, and took in a clearer view of the museum lawn where some officers remained outside, possibly waiting to catch Dark during his escape. Rounding the side of the building, he saw more, as well as flash of black over by...

"Hey you! Stop!"

Kosuke let go of the police tape he'd crawled under and ran towards the building, eyes finally looking up to where he knew the thief had climbed out a darkened window. Dark's black wings seemed to be struggling to get any lift; any second now, he'd fall to the ground and be a sitting duck. If the officers' flashlights didn't reveal him first.

Three uniformed men stood before him, blinding flashlights pointed at Kosuke's face. He could see the light of two others from behind. They grabbed his arms and dragged him back towards the police tape.

"Ah! I'm so sorry! I just wanted to get a better look! G—guess I got lost!" He tried to smile, raising his shaking hands and praying they couldn't hear his heart pounding. Just a regular guy from the crowd who got too excited. Please don't turn around. Please ignore Dark crawling in the bushes along the museum.

Kosuke stumbled away, legs turned to jelly by the relief, once they had returned him to the "civilian" area and let him go with a harsh warning. He held a hand to his chest as he walked, fingers gripping the fabric of his loose t-shirt once or twice. That had been a close call for Daisuke! And himself.

But it was his fault he'd forgotten what to do and screwed things up in the first place.

Kosuke glanced behind and around him. No officers in pursuit, mercifully. No landmarks that rang a bell either. Azumano was a labyrinth of a district in Tokyo, and wandering into unexplored territory wasn't unheard of. Yet he thought he should at least recognize the areas around museums...

Stopping under a streetlight and looking ridiculously lost, Kosuke glanced around him once more as if the unfamiliar signs and buildings would confess the route home. Before he could continue, a black figure jumped from above, landing silently on the concrete sidewalk and stealing an alarmed shout from Kosuke.

"Dark! Where did you—" A gloved figure covered his mouth.

"Geez, could you be any louder?"

Dark could imitate any voice he wanted, even a feminine one like this, but the hand on his face was surprisingly small.

Kosuke nodded, mutely promising to be quieter. The figure waited a couple seconds, probably not trusting those curious brown eyes, before backing up. Under the light of a white streetlight stood a tall smear of black.

"Emiko-san!?"

The figure's red eyes widened. Before he could blink, she had dragged him into a nearby alley and released him just as suddenly, catching his arm with a sigh before he fell into a puddle. Once he seemed to fully regain his balance, the tight grip on his arm disappeared, and Kosuke resisted the urge to rub the dull ache left behind.

"You got it right the first time, genius. No need to keep guessing." A proud grin spread across "Dark's" lips.

Those sparkling red eyes, an uncommon color around here—in fact, he'd never seen anyone but his own family members with it—had looked overly familiar under the streetlight, but the dim alley illuminated just enough to take in the rest of her.

Save for the eyes, she looked nothing like Emiko. Her hair was long and straight, dark strands trailing loosely down her back. The woman's face was slimmer as well, with sharp cheekbones Emiko could only emulate through her more time-intensive disguises.

Maybe this was one of her disguises to distract the police from Daisuke? His hand touched his chin in thought; that didn't make sense.

But she still reminded him of Emiko and not at all.

A shiny black coat covered her shoulders, held together by a shinier chain on the front, with the sleeves loosely flying at her sides. Black gloves covered her hands, but her thin, muscular arms remained bare. A tight shirt hemmed with lace barely supported her big—

Kosuke jerked his eyes away, cheeks on fire.

Enough staring! He was a married man!

"Got nothing to say now?" She leaned closer, and he stepped back, sweating again from the summer heat. Probably.

"E—Excuse me! I mistook you for someone else! I should go... now," he answered with a shaking finger pointing towards the alley's exit.

"Really? Don't get all shy. You seemed more than a little interested in me earlier." Gloved fingers tapped the statue under her arm, a reminder of his antics at the heist.

Kosuke couldn't even begin to find an acceptable way to explain he'd mistaken her for his son.

"I was lost." His stiff shrug and wincing eyes did nothing to impress the thief.

Dark looked up at the stars and back down at him, eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline with flat disbelief. But Kosuke kept his lips shut, knowing from experience, a lot of it, that more words would just make his pathetic lies worse.

"Sure," she smiled eventually, a wide, feline thing. "Try not to get lost on your way home!" With that she disappeared into the sky, leaving a flurry of black feathers in her wake.

He fanned one of the tickling things out of his face as he watched the mysterious woman fly away, his mouth open in silent awe. He'd seen Daisuke and Dark fly many times, even did it himself once with With; the former memories were much more enjoyable than the latter. It was a sight he enjoyed from the ground, evidence of the ancient magic in the Niwas' blood.

Down the empty streets, Kosuke continued to turn the strange encounter with this new Dark over in his mind.

He got lost after all.

With no money for a payphone to call his wife or father, Kosuke settled for a secluded bench under a tree in the park. It was nostalgic, he thought as he laid down on the hard, bumpy wood. At least the season kept the nights warm, albeit stickily humid.

Over a decade of travels had made sleeping outdoors a common occurrence for him, and yet less than two years at home seemed to have already spoiled him. As he closed his eyes, he prayed he'd wake up and see Emiko sleeping beside him in their bed again.

Morning brought with it dew and a clearer head instead.

He shook the moisture out of his hair. A couple leaves and a twig fell out as well.

Kosuke wandered around town wearing the same clothes as the day before and wishing he could bathe. At least he wasn't too hungry; the previous day's excitement must have killed any appetite.

Azumano's streets were timeless, a testament to the artistic traditions that built it centuries ago. The people, however... Kosuke scanned the buildings that he passed, recognizing only half of the businesses. Half of those he vaguely remembered seeing once, before he'd ever left the country.

The sound of running behind him shattered any focus. At a dozen or so "Niwa-san!"s he whipped his head around in terror, just in time to see Emiko latch onto his arm with a hushed "Quick, pretend you're my boyfriend!"

The group of men shouting and calling their name nearly shoved each other out of the way to reach the couple first. Anything else they said was buried by their own din.

This seemed vaguely familiar too...

"I already told you all, I have a boyfriend!" Emiko spoke loud enough to reach their ears and sweetly enough to hold their devoted attention. Her arm wrapped tighter around Kosuke's for emphasis. "I'm sure you'll find someone else that's right for you. Bye!"

With one last dazzling wave—causing a chorus of lovestruck sighs—she dragged a stunned Kosuke down the street and away from the commotion. He finally looked at her, the bouncing red hair from her college days spilling over her shoulders. She wore a smart skirt that swished around her knees.

This was like... the first time they met.

Except there was no train station. And Dark was a gorgeous woman who dragged Kosuke into alleyways.

Could Dark actually be...?

Emiko still clung to his arm and weaved with him around fellow pedestrians on the sidewalk. He tried to focus each step and not his unkempt appearance or the warm tingling running up his limb... especially not the jealous eyes that stabbed daggers into his back.

After they rounded a corner and escaped the sight of her pursuers, she released him with chuckled thanks. Finally he could let out his own breath; no one else would ogle the strange couple's display of affection. Even as his racing heart began to settle, he rolled his now-freed wrist with no small amount of regret.

He'd missed Emiko.

He still missed his Emiko.

But maybe this one could explain what the hell had happened to him! His mind had already run through the possibilities from artwork malfunctions to head injuries, but he could use an expert's opinion.

"Emiko-san, why are you—"

"You know," she interrupted, nose lifted into the air as she walked briskly beside him. "We've never met before, but you're being pretty forward with me." Her serious red eyes met his surprised brown ones.

Kosuke tripped on a raised slab in the sidewalk, probably drawing back the attention of nosy passersby. Nervous energy bubbled from head to toe. "Please excuse me! I didn't mean to— I apologize, Niwa-san."

Emiko's face cracked into a bright smile, as breathtaking as ever but younger than he'd seen in a long time, "Tell me your name, and I might forgive you."

"Ni-" Her brows raised. Shit. That was a strong habit. "Kosuke. My name is Kosuke."

"Kosuke-san." She tested the name, finger on her lips in thought. His heart stung, remembering their real first meeting. He'd stumbled his way through that too, more shy than accidentally rude.

"I changed my mind; you can call me Emiko-san!"

Kosuke nodded, his throat unusually tight. He didn't know how else to respond. This wasn't whom he hoped to find. And yet this was Emiko, without a doubt.

"Don't tell my boyfriend about earlier, by the way!" she said with a conspiratorial wink.

Boyfriend!?

"I—" Kosuke coughed into a fist and let his eyes explore the street they walked down. People filtered in and out of shops, walking down the street hand in hand or bumping past each other in a rush. Azumano on the weekend brimmed with energy. More than a few conversations weighed in on Dark's heist last night. "I didn't know you actually had a boyfriend."

He wondered if the other man had been waiting to meet her when the crowd took chase. He wondered what he was like. How did they meet? Had he promised to father her phantom thief son?

But it wasn't his place to pry. And it probably wouldn't help the cold weight sinking from his throat to his stomach.

He and Emiko were strangers now. Somehow. Of course she'd find someone else.

No questions were necessary as she seemed more than happy to rave about her boyfriend anyway.

He was a great catch, she explained. Handsome and the youngest of four brothers. He was doting but gave her plenty of space. And being a taken woman meant other suitors wouldn't bother her... as much!

Her hands waved in excitement as she described their latest date on a ferry. He'd gone all out for a romantic dinner on the water. He clearly made her happy.

"Are you alright?" Curiosity replaced that happiness when she looked at him, and his shoulders dropped with guilt. Get it together, man.

"Yes, sorry. I was wondering..." Should he really ask it? Here? He'd spent a good chunk of the previous night burning with questions, and she had just raised a few more. If she really was the current Niwa heiress... "Does he know? About you and... uh..."

"Who?" She tilted her head, wavy hair flowing along with the movement.

Men and women on the sidewalk paused to look at the beautiful redhead walking past them. Kosuke ducked his head and leaned forward to whisper the thief's name in her ear. He still hadn't gotten used to the attention his wife attracted. Well, not his wife anymore...

Kosuke pulled away, his face's color the same as her hair, aware too late that he stood far too close to a woman who was not his wife.

"Sorry, that wasn't— Please excuse me again." He apologized a lot lately, didn't he?

Eyes that had once been innocently wide narrowed to match her sharp smirk. They approached at the next intersection in silence, where at once she turned onto a street with fewer people. Boxes replaced pedestrians in front of late-night noodle restaurants whose lights waited until evening for hungry salarymen. And perhaps phantom thieves.

"He doesn't know," she said matter-of-factly, eyes closed and nose raised in the air again.

"You're not going to deny it?" Kosuke gaped. Their son denied being Dark to the moon and back with everyone he met!

At that thought, his heart ached again. He missed someone who didn't even exist here...

"Why should I? It's not like anyone who matters would believe you." She wasn't wrong.

"Do you plan to tell him?"

"Is that really any of your business?" A red eyebrow raised again. "Do you interrogate every woman you meet?"

His two hands raised in front of him, and Kosuke almost apologized once more but she cut him off with a laugh. With a couple skips, she moved ahead and twirled around, hair bouncing along a second later. The hot sunlight caught the red waves, sparkling almost orange.

Emiko continued walking backwards so Kosuke continued forward, glancing ahead in case he needed to warn her of curbs or other obstacles on the sidewalk. She easily hopped around or over them before he could open his mouth. She was showing off and it was working.

"If I tell him, I can't be Dark anymore," she answered his previous question and stuffed her hands into her skirt's pockets.

"Because he might accept both of you?" Kosuke knew that Daiki had missed Dark when he left, but he had assumed it was something inevitable if not desirable.

"Not only that. He probably would though." Pink lips split into a happy smile. "On the off-chance that he doesn't accept, how else will I become Dark?"

"Can't you find someone new?" He cringed at his quick question. It wasn't like he was hoping to sweep in for the rebound—

"Oh? Are you volunteering, Kosuke-san?"

It really wasn't like that! He slapped his forehead while she pointed at his flushed cheeks and laughed.

Kosuke raised his searching eyes to the blue sky before returning them to her. One more thing. "I thought only men in the Niwa clan could become," he lowered his voice, "Dark?" She might not mind, but he was unused to discussing the family curse in the open air.

"You seem to know a lot about this." Her gaze took on a familiar shrewdness, the look she often wore when planning for the next heist or designing trap blueprints.

"I—" Kosuke stammered. He had been overly comfortable around her from the start, too used to relying on her shrewdness, not outmaneuvering it. "I'm just a researcher." It was his turn to shove his hands into his pockets.

Emiko hopped over to walk beside him again, leaning to see his down-turned face.

"Don't worry so much. I said it didn't matter." She winked. "Besides, you obviously don't know everything. Ladies make just as good thieves as the gentlemen!"

They reached the next intersection too soon, and Emiko bid him another dazzling goodbye while his head was still spinning with new information.

This wasn't exactly the world he remembered. Kosuke glanced around. This part of town wasn't what he remembered either.

By the time he found his way back to the park, the sun had begun to set. Kosuke settled on a bench in a different wooded area, hoping no policeman would find him tonight either.

Another warm night turned into another warm morning.

Kosuke didn't know how he lucked out—chalk it up to the odd jobs a researcher sometimes does for information in remote towns—but he found work and an apartment to stay in. Nothing fancy or spacious, a mere 4.5-tatami room, but there'd be no more beetles crawling up his shirt in the dead of night!

One advanced paycheck later, and he put food in his stomach for the first time in days. The bland steamed buns might as well have been a gourmet meal.

With a sigh of relief, he ran a hand through his newly-washed hair and put on a green apron. This shop owner deserved the best shelver he could be after so generously hiring him under the table. Going to Emiko's house and explaining the situation to her and her father was out of the question, but having no ID put most sources of income out of reach.

This small international grocery, wedged between a ramen shop and a sign-maker's business, was packed to the ceiling with colorful goods in dozens of languages he recognized but mostly couldn't read. Boxes filled the cramped aisles and nearly covered the lights on the ceiling, adding up to a hot and, most importantly, private atmosphere.

Kosuke had to admit, being only a street away from a museum was a huge plus as well.

Maybe he could ask an artwork in there for help. Or he could learn more about pieces that had been "disposed of" or left the country before his research for Daisuke had begun. If he ever returned home, this information could be useful!

As he cut open boxes and pulled out various bags of dried noodles, heavier thoughts nagged at him. What if he never returned home? What should he do about Emiko and Phantom Thief Dark? Did he need to do anything? She was happy here. Wasn't it better to live her dream like this, instead of devoting herself to finding a husband and raising a son to live it instead?

The plastic bags crunched and crinkled as he aligned them by shape and ingredients. He understood why she had worked so hard to raise Daisuke to be a thief. On their third date, she'd told him tales of her father's exploits, magic blood, and the sudden loss of her mother. He'd given her a handkerchief again, this time to wipe her eyes.

Niwa Emiko never cried tears of sadness; tears of joy, yes, she was a fountain of joy, but nothing could bring this talented beauty down— Or so he had heard adoring young men sigh in train stations she frequented.

Crying beside him on a park bench, she looked nothing like the unreachable mystery he'd admired for over a year. Niwa Emiko had reasons and dreams of her own, as well as a heart that reached out to help others even when it couldn't help itself. Maybe it was then he knew for sure he wanted to marry her.

How could he have resisted? She was brilliant and kind, often ridiculous with her over-the-top antics, but also awe-inspiring and sometimes frightening. He had wanted to spend his life uncovering every side of this surprising woman.

Kosuke cut another box, this one filled with shiny tins of strange teas and their strong odors. If a customer walked past, they might laugh at the sappy smile on this shelver's face. He remembered how proud their son made her each time he avoided deadly traps or brought home a treasure.

He missed his family with a piercing ache that grew each time he woke. It was his years of traveling all over again, but this time there was no easy road home. No Emiko waiting for him either. And yet...

And yet.

The boxy television by the cash register crackled out news from an excited journalist. Phantom Thief Dark announced her next target! Police were already preparing for the 9 PM heist! The latest artwork to catch her eye seemed to be—

Kosuke started and hid when the shop owner spotted him peering around the corner of his aisle, trying to catch a glimpse of the television screen.

He plunged into the next box with gusto, fighting back a guilty blush at being caught slacking. His ears reached for any information over the noisy bags of sweets in his hands.

Dark would be in the Lagalith Museum tonight! Just a street away!

The rest of the day passed in a haze, with endless restocking as waves of customers shopped. He'd only mistakenly pointed someone to the wrong aisle twice. Like a library, every product had a proper place; he just had to learn where.

Hanging his apron on a hook in the back room and thanking the shop owner, Kosuke stepped out of the building without a plan.

Emiko—no, Dark's heist wouldn't start for another hour. His stomach wasn't thrilled by the idea of dinner, but why? She was a professional thief, she'd be fine! Did he just want to see her again? What would he say?

His traitorous feet brought him to the yellow police tape in front of the building. A sizable crowd of journalists and Dark's most dedicated fans had already formed. He thought he saw a woman in plainclothes with long blue hair among the officers at the entrance of the museum, but the people shoving around him were too big a distraction.

In the end, Kosuke didn't speak with Dark.

He sweated along with the rest of the civilians, watching in awe as the sleek black figure flew through the sky on magnificent wings. He smiled, impressed as always, when she disappeared from sight. He held his breath when alarm bells rang out within the museum, imagining Dark dashing around and over officers, laughing triumphantly as she juggled a priceless vase between her gloved hands before escaping from a balcony into the night sky. All that remained of her visit was a confetti of black feathers over the area.

Kosuke stared up at the dark blue, stars invisible with all the searchlights around, long after the rest of the crowd dispersed. The excitement of the night's event thrummed in his veins as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. All the while, one thought replayed in his mind: Emiko was a phantom thief!

A damn good one.

Aside from the night he first met Emiko's Dark, she handled each heist masterfully, mocking the desperate security guards that always grabbed too slowly.

Each night he visited a different museum to watch her fly. Some close enough to his side of town to walk to, while for others he'd hop on a train and arrive halfway to the end.

He didn't know how, but Emiko found his workplace throughout this. She stopped by to browse, sometimes in disguise—and who would have guessed? A heist at the Lagalith Museum was announced later that day!—and stayed to talk. She would hold up any bottle of sauce or snack and teasingly ask him to translate or recommend one. If his boss minded at first, it was quickly smoothed over by Emiko's sweet flattery and shining personality.

Kosuke suspected her beauty brought in more customers too, but he kept that theory to himself.

She always left with an energetic wave and a stunning smile. Sometimes she threw him a wink and a "See you later!". His own waving hand lingered in the air afterwards, dizzied by the speed with which this woman came and went.

More than a few customers asked if she was single or, more disbelievingly, dating him. Kosuke had to explain each time that she was taken, but not by him. He wondered when she'd introduce him to her boyfriend but didn't look forward to it and didn't ask. The shelves ended up organized to perfection on days with those wonderings.

After a day with no visit from Emiko, Kosuke slowly hung up his apron and walked into the summer air. Orange light from the setting sun cast deep blue shadows on half the street. He sought some relief from the endless heat in them. As he stepped down the curb to cross the intersection to his apartment, a strong hand dragged him sideways.

"Emiko got a bit too flustered earlier so it's my turn to have fun."

"Da—" Her hand covered his mouth, the soft skin, with a few callouses on the fingertips, pressed into his suddenly already overwarm face. Kosuke reviewed the turn of events in his swirling mind.

Emiko had mentioned going out somewhere with her boyfriend this week... Ah. Kosuke wasn't sure how to feel about her date being interrupted by the Niwa love genes.

He jumped back and she lifted her hands into the air with a gentle smile. Making peace?

"You got some place to be?" He tilted her head to the side, loose black hair following in a silk wave. She almost looked out of place in Emiko's bright clothes and a cutesy purse covered in rabbit keychains dangling from her arm.

"No, I just..." Why was it so hard to speak to this woman? She was Emiko, wasn't she? Or a part of her... "I was just going home."

He bowed and started to turn around, heart rate still not settled after the exciting abduction by the thief.

"And what, you can't talk to me first?" Her lean arms crossed under her breasts, which were slightly too big for her flowery dress and— and anyway—

Kosuke shook his head, eyes flitting up and down the street in case they caused a scene. It was mostly deserted. "No. I— I mean, yes, I can talk! Is here okay? Ah, or should we..."

She rested her weight on one leg, the hem of her dress swinging around her bare knees, and said nothing when he trailed off. Kosuke rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the scrutiny... and everything else about this situation.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked lamely, losing out to her mocking patience.

"You pick!" Dark rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You show up at every one of my heists, but when I finally give you the time of day, you run away! What's your deal?"

Why did he go to all her heists?

On days when he didn't participate, Kosuke had been content to watch Daisuke's criminal activities from the couch with his father-in-law. He knew Daisuke and Dark were an incredible team, but—call it fatherly instinct—he'd spent each of their heists wondering if this would be the night it all went wrong. His family could take care of themselves and had backup plans for everything; he knew that, but he worried all the while, useless on the couch.

He didn't worry about this Dark in front of him, on the other hand. She'd proven to be an amazing thief. So why?

"I'm not sure," Kosuke said, feeling more and more foolish.

"Maybe you were hoping to see me again?" Her predatory grin moving closer would have made Kosuke flush if blood weren't already draining out of his face. Emiko could be listening to their conversation!

Dark must have figured out his feelings for Emiko. What if she told? Would that ruin the strange friendship they'd built?

Was there really no chance for something more? He managed to marry her in one lifetime already!

Another question replaced those, and Kosuke opened his mouth, hand hovering over his chin as he stared at Dark.

"What, Kosuke?" The name—his own wife had never said it so bluntly—broke the spell.

"Da— Sorry, uh, Miss?" From the corner of his eye, Kosuke watched a delivery boy on a bike ride past them on the street. "Why did you come here instead of staying with Emiko's boyfriend? Shouldn't you like him too?"

"She wasn't kidding when she said you were nosy as hell." She said that!?

That was an imprudent question anyway. Kosuke's hand rose and combed through his sticky hair. His apartment wouldn't be much cooler than the shade they stood in.

"Would you mind taking a walk with me? There's a great park nearby."

"If you promise to never call me Miss again. Go ahead and use my name if you have to."

Dark latched onto his arm and told him to lead the way, but with her fast pace, he swore the roles were reversed. As far as directions went, he'd point and say "We turn th—" and she swiftly pulled him that way.

Besides those words, they didn't talk during the journey. Dark wore a playful smile the entire time, and said nothing along the way. She was the opposite of Emiko's talkative sunniness, which was always ready to share a story or make small talk. As for him, he'd stuck his foot in his mouth enough today and kept it closed.

Kosuke eventually lost the blush spurred by Dark's body pressed against him. Once or twice he'd tried to subtly reclaim his stolen arm, but she didn't notice or didn't care.

"This is it?" she asked as they stepped onto the walkway that split the grass. "It doesn't look that great." The sun had only just set, covering everything from bushes to benches in darkening blue light.

"I come here a lot to think," Kosuke admitted. "I like how peaceful it is at night."

"Don't you spend enough time in your head as it is?" Dark teased, softly knocking his head with a fist. Kosuke laughed quietly, surprising himself.

"Probably. But it's what I'm best at." Reading, recalling information, taking notes, connecting dots. It had taken over fourteen years, but he could say he'd honed those skills at least.

Dark let go, stretching her long arms over her head. The fresh air on his own was chilly compared to the furnace of body heat from before.

They walked side by side in the growing darkness.

"What do you think about me?" She broke the silence sometime later.

Kosuke looked ahead, as far as he could see through the scattered trees. "... I don't know," he admitted again. He still didn't know how he felt about Daisuke's Dark. He was there. He was a mystery. He was a member of the family.

And she was...?

"Okay, well, this was an exciting date. I'm off to do something even more daring, like color-coding Emiko's socks! See you!" With popped out of her purse and transformed into huge black wings. Before Kosuke could say goodbye, the thief and rabbit lifted off into the sky, leaving him with nothing but an empty park.

After the confusing conversation with Dark, Kosuke mentioned his interest in researching artworks to Emiko on her next visit, offering to gather information on any pieces she owned or was interested in. She snickered and thanked him but did mention a painting she'd had her eye on. No special reason, she just wanted it.

That was enough for him. Kosuke buried himself in books in the various libraries around town, filling notebooks with information on each of Emiko's targets over the weeks.

Sometimes she snuck through the open window of his stuffy apartment to watch, catching the falling books from a tower he'd bumped into out of shock.

"You could use a bigger place to live."

"It's just me so it's fine." He reassured her each time.

He didn't mind, really.

In his heart, he was actually being rather selfish. Because, alone or not, it felt like home to help the Niwa family again. When he lost himself in the texts and histories, he could forget that this wasn't his old life anymore. The extra time with Emiko was a bonus he'd never turn down.

Sometimes he wondered if Emiko's boyfriend knew where she spent her time. Sometimes he wondered what the neighbors thought of the strange woman's voice that laughed and told loud stories in his room at all hours of the night, but whose owner was never seen walking in or out of a door.

Once, Emiko climbed through his window with her arms full of grocery bags. Paying no mind to his insistence that she was his guest to feed, she cooked them both dinner with a declaration that she needed the practice and he made a good guinea pig.

"So? How does it taste?"

They had spread his futon onto the floor and sat on it, plates in their laps for lack of a table or chairs. Kosuke's bamboo chopsticks poked at the overcooked chunks of meat and unevenly chopped vegetables. She wasn't kidding when she said she needed practice. Thieving must take up a lot of time that had been devoted to other hobbies, in another life.

But familiar flavors lingered on his tongue, red pepper and a hint of honey. He remembered many meals at home with these, and it was at once so dear and nostalgic, he could only nod.

"Come on, I need more than that!" Emiko nudged him with her elbow, dabbing her sweaty face with a towel at the same time. Even with an open window, two bodies and a countertop stove made a lot of heat in this small room!

Kosuke swallowed and found his voice, "I like it. Thank you, Emiko-san." He meant it.

She raised her arms in victory, laughing and promising to bring more food, completely ignoring any and all polite refusals.

Sometimes Dark visited instead of Emiko, usually waiting for him to return from watching her latest heist. She'd proudly tell him how it all went down inside the museum with the police, answering his questions or scoffing at the simplicity of them, but smiling all the while.

And that was how the three of them spent their summer.

On one clear evening, he cut through his usual park on the way home from a heist.

This one had gone on later than usual, something about a new security system by a special commander, and his feet ached with each step. Kosuke flopped down onto the park bench in a wooded area, remembering the night he'd spent there earlier in the season. A lot had happened since then.

The shop owner and frequent customers were kind to him. They often invited him out for drinks, which he occasionally accepted. The bulk of his free time went into researching or chatting with Emiko and Dark. It wasn't bad. In fact, he always looked forward to the days when he'd see one or the other.

He titled his head back, resting it on the cool wood and staring at the sparkling stars.

But were his son, father-in-law, and his Emiko out there? Would he ever see them again? He'd found nothing in the museums or libraries to explain his situation. Every lead quickly hit a dead end.

This really might become his new, permanent life.

Kosuke closed his stinging eyes.

And what then?

"What are you thinking about now?"

Kosuke's eyes flew open and then slammed shut, not expecting the bright sunlight that blinded them. His neck cracked and twinged with each movement as he lifted it from the hard bench. A numb hand clumsily rubbed his eyes.

When he finally stopped blinking, Emiko's curious face came into view.

"Emiko-san! Why are you here?"

"You weren't at the shop or apartment so it had to be the park." The shop..! He must be late for work!

"Did you spend the night here?" She chuckled softly and pulled a leaf out of his spiky hair. Apparently he had.

"Not intentionally..." Kosuke rubbed his sore neck. He shakily stood, taking a few steps forward before turning around to look at her.

Niwa Emiko.

Her wild red hair spilled over her shoulders as usual, shining brighter amongst the blue sky and green vegetation. Hands in pockets, she amusedly watched him smooth his wrinkled shirt and gather his wits.

His heart pounded in his chest, not entirely from the sudden awakening. Work could wait. He'd thought enough last night and all the weeks before. Maybe some of that Niwa bravery had finally rubbed off on him?

"Emiko-san, please go out with me!"

Despite his inner monologue, it wasn't an impressive or dramatic confession by any means. Children and friends and dogs carried on in the park, making noise all the while. Trees gave them some semblance of privacy at least.

"Kosuke-san, you know I'm already seeing someone..." It must grow tiring, having this same conversation with so many men. And he proved to be no better than them. No, worse than them; she'd shared her secrets with him, and look at what he ended up doing anyway.

Emiko herself didn't look terribly disappointed at least. She looked...

"I know." Kosuke couldn't meet her warm gaze anymore as guilt and resolve warred inside. "And I know how important being Dark is to you. I don't want to change who you are or take her away.

"But... being part of your life is important to me too." His words were quiet and steady. "I don't want to give that up either."

She kept silent. But there was no taking it back now.

Slowly, he raised his heavy eyes and saw that Emiko had been replaced.

"You've got nerve! So you just waltz over, say a few sweet lines, and take whoever you want?" Dark drawled, tossing her long, dark hair over her shoulder. A breeze picked up, sailing through the grass and trees, mussing their hair further.

Kosuke stared at the beautiful thief, his surprised face gradually becoming earnest again. He'd said his piece. He wanted to share his life with Emiko again. All of her.

"No wonder we picked you," she continued with a tilt of her head, looking him up and down with sparkling red eyes and an appreciative grin. "Niwa Kosuke."

"You—huh?" Kosuke's coherence slipped away along with any idea of what was happening.

Why did she—

—

Kosuke opened his eyes in a dark room, listening to the quiet breathing beside him for several seconds before he looked down.

And screamed.

He kicked haphazardly at the strange striped beast sitting on the foot of his bed. It jumped and landed beside him, spinning into a triumphant pose before rolling onto half of his pillow.

"Haha! Not nearly as fast as your Dai-chan!" Baku, the latest artwork to join their family, stretched his front hooves high and dared Kosuke to try again.

Kosuke pulled the tangled sheets back over his legs, hands shaking along to his pounding heart. Just when he thought he'd adapted to life in the Niwa home, something new arrived to make everything ridiculous again.

Wide brown eyes scanned once more the room lit by pale slivers of moon and streetlight, as if the park and Dark were hiding in a corner, rather than in... a dream?

Emiko poked the tapir's squishy belly and tiredly scolded, "Be nice." Baku miraculously settled down with only a roll of his uncovered eye.

"Sorry to wake you, Emiko-san." Kosuke rubbed a hand over his face and sighed in relief. Despite its shocks, it was good to be home.

"Don't worry about it, dear." He was all too aware of the unwelcome guest nestled between them, listening to every word. "It was time to wake up anyway."

"But it's not yet 5 AM..." Kosuke spied the digital clock on her nightstand through his fingers. Even his dedicated wife didn't get up this early to set traps... as far as he knew.

"It felt longer than one night, right? Dreams are amazing!" She laid a hand on her cheek and sighed wistfully, "And that's what it feels like to fly. You never said it was so freeing!"

Kosuke shuddered at the reminder of his flight with With a couple weeks ago. "Freeing would be the last word I use to describe— Wait, you...? I also had a dream that you flew!"

Baku broke in, "It was the lady's dream, bub. A damn tasty one too. But you went and stuck your head in where it didn't belong." At that, Emiko tapped the tapir's head and shooed him away. He hopped over Kosuke's legs onto the floor and sauntered out the cracked door, swinging it open completely with his rump.

Kosuke waited until the sound of foot-(hoof?)-steps disappeared down the hall. "I must have spoiled your time as Dark... If I had known, I wouldn't have..." What? Tried to win her back? Spoken to her at all?

She deserved to enjoy her time as a phantom thief, at the very least. He bowed his head in apology. He could have also enjoyed her happiness from afar.

Thin fingers lifted his chin, and he stared down at her warm eyes, still heavy with the last remnants of sleep. "Oh, Kosuke-san, you didn't understand? I had fun! Being Dark was even better than I had imagined it to be. I'll thank Baku in the morning for his prank, just this once." Good dream or not, Kosuke was already considering locking their bedroom door to keep out future late-night visitors.

"I have to thank you too," she went on. Her smile softened at his confused expression. Those fingers reached further to the back of his head and pulled his face closer to hers. "My dream wouldn't have been complete without you there." Public or private, her frank affection never failed to make him blush.

Kosuke remembered their adventure with strange clarity: the amazing phantom thief flying above, their chance meetings and conversations, time with his then-not-wife, an impulsive confession his younger self couldn't have dreamed of making. Dark's words echoed in his ears.

Ah.

He finally understood his role.

He rubbed his neck, hand stopping over where hers still rested. Kosuke shyly returned her smile.

"My Kosuke-san played the best sacred maiden."

Her delighted laughter drowned out his embarrassed "Emiko-san!". For a moment Kosuke swore there was long, dark hair framing his wife's cheeky grin. But only a moment, and then she pulled him into a kiss.

THE END

#writing #mine #wife #curse #7k

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whelvenwings · 7 years

Text

Better Latte than Never

it’s my birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE 21ST OF SEPTEMBER IS FINALLY HERE, and that means a fic!!! have a destiel coffee shop AU on me. <3

read it here on AO3!!

“What are you having?” Castiel asked with a smile, and Dean’s stomach flipped.

“Um. Regular latte,” he managed to say, and smiled.

“Regular latte,” Castiel repeated. “Coming right up.” He turned away, and began to prepare Dean’s drink, tanned hands picking up a plain white cup which he spun into position onto the coffee machine, glancing up to see whether Dean had noticed. Dean smiled, hoping it came across as ‘impressed’ and not ‘totally smitten’.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other behind the cafe counter, Dean waited for his latte to be ready. He preferred espresso, if he was honest - but lattes took longer to drink, and just recently, Dean had found himself becoming a professional in the niche field of ‘reasons to take a long time over drinking a coffee in a small cafe’. He’d never even liked coffee that much - it had always been more of a necessary evil, utilized when he’d pushed his sleeping schedule beyond the reasonable limit - but that was something that he’d conveniently forgotten, just recently.

In fact, he could date this very specific amnesia to the exact moment that he’d walked through the door of this tiny cafe, tired in the middle of a long day at work and gasping for something to drink on his lunch break. That had been the first time he’d come, but there had been a second time, and a third… and now it was almost a whole month later, and Dean was still coming in every day.

He wished he could say that it was the coffee at Better Latte Than Never that kept him coming back. The coffee was good – or at least, Dean thought it was, though he was no expert - he hadn’t exactly sampled a whole lot of different brands. In fact, recently, he hadn’t even bothered buying his usual packet of filter coffee when he went grocery shopping. He spent so much time in Better Latte Than Never that he was starting to genuinely worry about the effects of overcaffeination.

After all, maybe those effects included giddiness, and butterflies in his stomach, and a heart rate through the roof, all of which Dean had been experiencing on a daily basis - but if he was honest, Dean didn’t think he could blame the coffee so much as the maker of the coffee for the symptoms.

God, he was feeling them right now, looking into those blue, blue eyes as they glanced up at him through the steam from the coffee machine. Castiel was tall, tanned, and unfairly good-looking – full lips, a strong chin, and tousled hair, not to mention his muscular arms, his large, graceful hands...

Dean cleared his throat.

He was worse than a lovestruck high-schooler, and it was embarrassing, but he just couldn’t seem to stop coming back to the coffee shop – and Castiel always looked so happy to see him that it gave Dean just a little bit of hope. The way his face lit up…

“Back again?” said another voice - different, but still familiar. A tall, blond man pushed through the curtains from the back room of the coffee shop, and smiled at Dean - a twinkle in his eyes that was just a little bit too knowing for Dean’s liking. Balthazar, read his nametag, and he had an accent - British, Dean thought, though they hadn’t spoken much before today. Dean had always seemed to find himself being served by Castiel, on all his visits - and he wasn’t complaining.

“Yeah,” Dean said, offering an uncomfortable smile in return.

“You must really enjoy our coffee,” Balthazar said, his voice heavy with irony. “Or maybe it’s the excellent service, hmm?”

Castiel rounded on him, looking murderous, before catching Dean’s eye and turning hastily back to the coffee machine. Dean thought he saw Castiel’s cheeks reddening, but that could have just been the heat from the machine.

Dean blinked, realising that he was staring, and looked back at Balthazar.

“It’s a nice place you have here,” he said blandly. “I like it.” Balthazar smiled again in recognition of the compliment - but still, there was that sparkling knowledge in his look that made Dean shift uncomfortably. What did Balthazar care if Dean came back every day? Surely it couldn’t be bad for business to have a regular - it felt like Dean had dropped half his life savings into lattes just recently.

“Well - nice to see you again,” Balthazar said, as though aware that he was outstaying his welcome in the two-person bubble of quiet that Dean and Castiel had been in before he’d arrived. He picked up a cup and nodded to Dean before turning around and heading into the back room once more, slapping Castiel on the back as he passed.

Castiel offered Dean a smile that was halfway between an apology and the sharing of a joke that they both understood - though neither of them would have been able to put it into words, Dean thought. It was just a little funny, somehow.

Castiel pushed Dean’s latte across the counter, made expertly, the foam light and golden. Dean paid, putting the coins down on the counter instead of right into Castiel’s hand. It felt dishonest, somehow, to seek out touch between them and like it so much, when he wasn’t even sure if Castiel liked him back. Castiel dragged the coins to his side of the counter and tipped them over the edge into his cupped palm, his eyes twinkling as he pulled some change out of the till and set it down on the counter, just as Dean had. The way Castiel looked at him had Dean thinking things that made him blush; he looked down at the change to avoid eye contact, but only ended up staring at Castiel’s hands instead.

“Keep it,” Dean mumbled. “Uhm, a top. Sorry – a tip, a tip. Um. I’m just…” He grabbed his latte and walked away before he could embarrass himself any further, heading for his usual table - the one where he was in clear view of the barista’s counter - and then sweeping past it, to one further on where he could hide, and blush, and put his head in his hands in peace. A top. A top? Really? As if his crush weren’t already pathetically obvious...

After all this time just waiting and hoping, Dean knew that he really just needed to do something.

He took a sip of his latte. It was still too hot; he put it back down, staring at it thoughtfully.

Too hot. Too soon. What if he tried to ask Castiel out, but it was too soon? But it had been a month. He was starting to look less smitten and more like a stalker, he was pretty sure. Maybe tomorrow he’d turn up to the coffee shop and be served with jail time instead of a latte.

Or maybe both. Dean spent a few moments imagining how feasible it would be to drink a coffee whilst wearing handcuffs. Definitely possible, he concluded, but not that comfortable.

The fact of it was, Dean really, really did not want to mess this up. Every time he even thought about offering Castiel his number, or even - his heart skipped at the thought - asking Castiel out on a date, he couldn’t help picturing all the millions of ways that it could go wrong. His imaginings ranged from receiving a simple ‘no, I don’t want to, thank you’ response, to Castiel being so shocked that he dropped a coffee cup on his foot, broke his toes, tripped over, broke his nose, and meanwhile the coffee from the fallen cup would have splattered all over a socket and started a fire, in which the whole coffee shop would be consumed in a matter of minutes. The result of asking Castiel out on a date, Dean thought, could conceivably be rejection, or accidental arson.

But… Dean sat up a little straighter, peeking around the corner to catch a glimpse of Castiel, who was chatting seriously with someone Dean couldn’t see - probably Balthazar. Every time Dean had talked to Castiel, he’d been so kind, and intelligent, and thoughtful. Dean knew that Castiel was six months older than him, a college student, making money where he could to fund his final year as a Philosophy major. He knew that Castiel was an only child, had his birthday in September, disliked Freud, enjoyed jazz and liked bees and baked cakes and had a tattoo on his shoulder and hated mornings and, and, and…

And yet, Dean still hadn’t asked him out. And Castiel hadn’t asked Dean out, either, which was another thing that was worrying. Every day that passed, Dean grew a little more certain of how much he liked Castiel, and a little less certain of how much Castiel liked him. After all, if Castiel wanted to date him, wouldn’t he have said something by now? But then, maybe Castiel was thinking exactly the same thing about him…

“Um, excuse me? Dean?”

Dean whipped his head up at the sound of that familiar sea salt voice. Castiel was standing in front of him, awkwardly holding up a plate stacked high with brownies. It was the first time that Dean had ever seen him out from behind the counter; he was instantly struck by the nearness of Castiel, the lack of barrier between them. It was enough to make his head spin.

God, he had it bad.

“My, um. My manager sent me to ask you… if you’d like a brownie.” Castiel was standing very upright, his expression uncomfortable.

“He did?” Dean asked. He leaned forwards a little and glanced towards the barista’s counter, where Balthazar was standing and watching them both. Catching Dean’s eye, he grinned and tipped Dean a wink. Dean blinked back, and frowned.

“Yes. He did. It’s, um, ‘on the house’, he says.” Castiel said the words as though he’d never heard them used together before in his life, making Dean grin. The sight of Dean’s smile seemed to make Castiel happy; his shoulders relaxed and his eyes softened.

“That’s very kind,” Dean said. “Uh. So long as it’s OK.” Castiel leaned down, and Dean picked a brownie off the plate. He caught a scent of Castiel’s cologne as he did so, something sweet and musky. It smelled good, so good, and oh, there it was again - with Castiel out from behind the counter, Dean was suddenly so much more aware of his body – of how much he wanted to hold Castiel’s hand, or slide his arms around those hips, or kiss him…

“Uhh,” Dean said, the little noise coming out wobbly. “Uhmm. Thanks for the brownie.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel said. He treated Dean to one of his rare wider smiles, his eyes bright. Dean opened his mouth, a thousand things that he wanted to say trapped on his tongue. Before he could say any of them, Castiel nodded a warm goodbye to him, and headed back to serve the next customer.

Dean took several meditative sips of his latte.

This was getting ridiculous. The magnitude of his crush on Castiel was so obvious now that even the manager was doing his best to hook Dean up - or that’s what it looked like. That didn’t necessarily mean that Castiel felt the same way, of course…

Dean chewed on his lip for a moment, and then pulled a napkin out of the holder and grabbed a pen out of his coat pocket. His fingers were clumsy as he jotted down a mobile number - his own. He agonised for ten minutes, and then added a smiley face. It was wonky, so he snatched a new napkin and tried again. Better, but not quite right… he wrote his own name above the digits. He added an apostrophe and an ‘s’ and the word ‘number’. He added a scribbled ‘call me’ and then scrunched up the napkin – too desperate – and started again. Number, check. Smiley face, good. Pause, think – ‘Dean’s Number’, not too neat, not too messy.

Perfect.

Except the zero there kind of looked like a six, because he’d drawn it strangely…

No. Enough fussing. Dean downed the last of his latte and stuffed the brownie into his mouth in one bite, swallowing it before he’d even really chewed.

He looked over to where Castiel was standing behind the counter, and licked his dry lips, and started walking over to the counter.

When he was halfway there, he stopped in his tracks. Castiel was standing right in front of the counter, frowning, with Balthazar standing next to him - and then Balthazar looked right at Dean, slid his arm around Castiel’s waist, and kissed him on the cheek. It was so undoubtedly romantic that Dean felt as though he’d walked into a wall, he stopped so suddenly.

Balthazar was looking at him, Dean could feel it, though he only had eyes for Castiel - who pulled away from Balthazar, and then saw Dean staring. He seemed to go pale; Dean realised suddenly how strange he must look, standing there wide-eyed at Castiel being kissed by his - his boyfriend, apparently. Castiel had a boyfriend.

Castiel had a boyfriend.

Dean realised he was still holding the napkin with his number on it in his hand. Castiel was staring at him, but Dean’s vision felt splintered, like he couldn’t focus right and everything was too sharp. He felt sick to his stomach.

Castiel had a boyfriend.

He screwed the napkin up in his hand. On his way out of the coffee shop, he tossed it into the trash can by the door. He could still taste latte on his lips, still feel Castiel’s eyes on the back of his head, as he crossed the street and walked away, never intending to go back to the coffee shop again.

Somehow, in the process of half-falling for someone with a boyfriend, Dean had managed to completely fall for coffee. Three days after leaving Better Latte Than Never with his hands tingling and his legs like jelly, he caved.

He didn’t go back to Castiel’s coffee shop - he wanted a latte, not a hot cup of embarrassment with a side of shame - but good coffee places proved hard to find. After trying a Starbucks, he discounted chainstore coffees completely, and tried to find another good little indie place where he could spend his lunch breaks - somewhere not too far from the car shop where he worked. And that was how he ended up in The Daily Grind, drinking a latte made for him by a pretty barista with red hair. Dean didn’t look at her twice; at least he was learning, he told himself.

He sat down at a table far from the counter, in a booth with his back to the rest of the cafe, and pulled out his phone. He flicked through his notifications - a few texts, one missed call. He sighed, and took a sip of his coffee. It tasted… OK, Dean had to admit begrudgingly. It felt wrong to like the coffee from another shop after pining for the barista from one down the road for so long, but he had to move on somehow. It was ridiculous to still feel anything for Castiel at all, let alone loyalty.

“Come on, Cassie,” said a voice from behind Dean - a voice that he recognised, that made his insides freeze; he choked on his coffee and spilled a little of it over the edge of his cup when he set it down too hard, trying to muffle his coughing. “Just sit down.”

“We could have just had our lunch break at the shop,” said a second voice, one like sea salt and honey chocolate, and Dean melted and tensed and wanted to run and couldn’t move, all at the same time. He ducked his head lower, in case either Balthazar or Castiel could see his profile over the top of the booth.

“I’ve told you a hundred times, it’s good to get out of the place for a bit. Refresh ourselves,” Balthazar said. His voice sounded like he was sitting facing Dean, which meant that unless Castiel was sitting on the same side of the booth…

“Refresh ourselves from the coffee shop… in another coffee shop,” Castiel said dryly, and Dean could tell that he and Castiel were sitting back-to-back. He put his hands over his face.

Oh, God.

“It doesn’t make sense, but it’s poetic,” Balthazar said easily.

Dean had left it too long - he couldn’t get up and leave now, they’d see him, it would be awkward, and that loudmouth Balthazar was bound to make some comment that would only make everything worse. He was stuck, listening to his crush have a lunchtime date with his boyfriend. Dean mopped at the spilled coffee on the table and then had nowhere to put the damp napkin, so simply set it down beside his latte cup. Who was the damper napkin, he thought. The one sitting on the table, or the one sitting at it.

And now he was describing himself as a damp napkin. This situation was actually going to drive him round the freaking twist, it seemed. Dean almost wanted to laugh, in a bleak kind of way.

“Besides, Anna works here,” he heard Balthazar add. “It’s good to support our friends, Castiel.”

Our friends. They’d been a couple long enough to have a shared friendship group - and bang went Dean’s hopeful theory of a one-night stand or casual hookup situation.

No wonder Balthazar had been in Dean’s face about the reason he kept coming back to Better Latte than Never, Dean thought suddenly. He must have thought Dean was trying to hit on his boyfriend. He wanted the ground to swallow him up, he was so ashamed. All that time he’d spent dreaming, hoping, wishing...

Castiel has a boyfriend, Dean reminded himself, for the thousandth time. You’re not allowed to think about him like that anymore. God, Castiel must have been so uncomfortable with Dean coming in every single day. Maybe that was why Balthazar had kissed his cheek, trying to comfort him behind the counter - maybe that was why Castiel had looked so uncomfortable as Balthazar did it. Because he was worried about being stalked.

“I thought getting you out of the shop would perk you up,” Dean heard Balthazar say. “But you still look like a bird shat on your shoulder. What is it with you this week?”

“You know what it is.”

Balthazar sighed.

“Look, if this is still about that regular of ours…”

Oh, God. So Dean really had got to Castiel; all of his worst nightmares were real. Castiel had been so upset by Dean’s constant visits that he was still angry about them. Dean stared down vacantly at his phone, his heart thudding painfully. He was so stupid, stupid, stupid…

“Of course it is.”

Dean let his head fall onto his arms on top of the table, slumping in defeat.

“You said it would work. You said it was foolproof,” Castiel continued, sounding resentful.

“Cassie,” Balthazar said, sounding cajoling, “he’s just one customer.” He snorted idly. “So, the plan didn’t work. It’s a ball-ache, but so what?”

“So what?” Castiel demanded. “Didn’t you see his face, Balthazar? And he hasn’t returned since.”

Dean blinked, and lifted his head off his arms. That had almost sounded… as though Castiel was upset that Dean wasn’t there. Which…

Which made no sense at all.

“He was just supposed to get a little jealous,” Balthazar said languidly. “Not march right out of the place like he’d seen a ghost. Maybe he’s mad. You know, touched in the head. You’re probably best off without anything to do with him.”

“I don’t… feel that way,” Castiel said, too carefully, and Dean’s heart twisted itself into a lover’s knot in the space of half a second. He tried to remember to breathe, but couldn’t quite figure out how.

Someone sighed, and slurped their drink - Balthazar, Dean thought.

“Look,” Balthazar said. “He’s probably busy doing whatever it is that he does...”

“Fixing cars,” Castiel said dully.

“How do you know that? Did you follow him to work like a lost dog? Actually, I don’t want to know. The point is, he’ll just be busy, but next week you’ll see him back again. Burning with jealousy, just like you wanted, and ready to punch me on the nose and ask you out on a date, finally.”

“You really think so?” Castiel sounded like he was trying hard not to be hopeful. “He never missed a day, for the entirety of the last month…”

“Playing it cool,” said Balthazar wisely. “He doesn’t want to seem too interested now that he thinks you’re dating me. But trust me, he’s far too into you to leave you alone for long, what with the eyes you’ve been making at him. He can’t have missed how into him you are.”

And the pit in Dean’s stomach was suddenly a whole lot smaller, because thank God, he hadn’t totally misread everything - and Castiel really had been giving off signs he’d been interested in Dean - and -

“Can’t say I know what he sees in you, but…” Balthazar said lazily.

“Balthazar, you’ve been my friend since we were five. You must have noticed a certain number of personal qualities.”

“Hmmm. Grumpy, grumpy, and more grumpy?” Balthazar said, teasing. There was a shuffling sound of someone getting to their feet, and Dean ducked his head as Balthazar made a noise of protest.

“You can’t go back yet! You can’t even have finished… oh, Castiel. Of course you got an espresso.”

“I’ll see you back at the shop,” Castiel said, sounding smug.

“What’s your hurry?” Balthazar said. “Worried your jealous lover might return, and you not there to greet him with proffered beverage?”

“Something like that,” Castiel said, and Dean could hear the reluctant smile in his voice. There were footsteps… and then the creak of the coffee shop door opening, and closing.

Castiel was gone.

Dean could hardly move. He put his hands over his eyes, trying to shut the whole world down while he figured this out. So… if he was hearing right, if he wasn’t going crazy… it sounded like Balthazar and Castiel weren’t, in fact, in actuality, in reality… dating. They weren’t going out. They’d cooked up the kiss together - with most of the idea coming from Balthazar, so it seemed - as a way to make someone jealous enough to boot them into action. Someone who was a regular - a regular who worked fixing cars? Surely - Dean hated to assume anything, after what had happened in the past few days - but surely that had to be Dean? So, in essence, what the whole thing boiled down to, was…

Castiel did not have a boyfriend.

And Castiel - maybe - probably? - liked Dean.

Dean’s legs were jelly again, but this time was different. He stood up, and turned around, and walked the single step to stand by the table where Balthazar was sitting alone, holding his phone in one hand and his coffee in another.

Dean said nothing, only waited for Balthazar to notice him. It took a few seconds - but when Balthazar did look up, his mouth dropped open in a surprisingly genuine expression of shock - happy shock, Dean thought.

“You!” Balthazar said. He set down his coffee delicately. “Deserted to another shop? Are you trying to woo my sister as well as my best friend?” He pointed towards the red-haired barista who had served Dean earlier. Dean glared at him.

“You,” he growled, “are an ass.”

“Please,” Balthazar said, leaning back with his arm along the back of his seat, relaxed and unfazed. “Arse, if you don’t mind. At least insult me in my own accent.”

“I can’t believe I actually fell for your cute little trick,” Dean said. “How long did it take you to talk Castiel into that one, huh? Didn’t you think about him once when you were moving us around like chess pieces?”

Balthazar leaned forwards, his eyes showing a sudden verve and intensity. Dean almost took a step back, the change was so sudden.

“I care about my best friend,” he said. “That’s precisely why I did it, Mr Regular Latte. Because you are an unknown, charming kind of guy, who I thought was probably playing with Castiel’s feelings. And if you had no intention of ever asking him out, I wanted you gone. I thought about him plenty when I moved you around like a chess piece. I just didn’t think twice about you. And I think you’ll find that’s the real reason you’re angry.”

He leaned back, and in an effortless moment was all relaxed, idle smiles once more. Dean swallowed hard. For the first time, he understood exactly what Castiel saw in Balthazar, and why they were friends.

And in fact, Dean thought, Balthazar did have a point. He looked at the guy with a certain new level of respect.

“I care about Castiel, too,” he said. Balthazar grunted, and picked up his coffee.

“I never said you didn’t,” he said. “I said I thought it was likely that you probably didn’t, but that’s not quite the same thing. Anyway, if you really do like him, can I suggest... that you might be better drinking coffee elsewhere?”

“You think I should go see him?” Dean asked, taken aback. He hadn’t asked for Balthazar’s blessing, nor especially wanted it - but now that he had it, he had to admit, it was a surprisingly good feeling. “After what you just said, with the - unknown, hanging around but not asking him out… thing?”

Balthazar had picked up his phone, and was looking down at his screen casually as he replied.

“Better Latte than Never,” he said dryly.

Dean didn’t hesitate another moment. He strode out of The Daily Grind and once he was outside, he couldn’t stop himself from breaking into a run. It was only a couple of minutes to walk there, but it was less than a minute to run, and that meant less than a minute until he saw Castiel…

He pushed through the familiar door to the coffee shop, out of breath and still moving fast, drawing the eyes of everyone inside. There were only a few customers seated at tables - and behind the counter, frozen with a cup in his hand and a cloth in another…

Castiel.

Dean walked over, feeling strangely dreamlike - with Castiel himself as the only focal point of clarity. He reached the counter and gripped it, trying to ground himself. He looked up at Castiel, whose expression was a mess - part surprised, part happy, part worried, part…. what was that, smugness? Dean felt himself getting cross, remembering the conversation that Balthazar and Castiel had been having. Castiel thought that he’d successfully manipulated Dean into coming back, did he? Made him jealous?

“Dean,” said Castiel, the single word loaded with a thousand meanings. Dean struggled to hold onto his anger. Castiel cleared his throat, and made an obvious effort to behave normally. “What are you having?”

The same question, just like always. ‘Regular latte’, Dean was supposed to reply.

“I’m having none of your bullshit,” Dean said, in his best tough-guy voice. Somewhere behind him, Dean thought he heard a few gasps and a surprised snort of laughter.

Castiel blinked, looking thunderstruck.

“None of my… bullshit,” he repeated. “As in… you dislike the lattes I make? You think they’re... bullshit?”

“What? No, no,” Dean said. Castiel opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Dean found himself going on. “Your lattes are delicious, actually. They’re way better than Starbucks. Like, way better.” He shook his head, trying to get back on track. “But that’s not why I -”

“You really think so?” Castiel said. Dean pulled a face that he hoped said quite clearly, duh.

“Hell, yeah. And even the ones down at The Daily Grind honestly don’t match up.”

“What? No, Anna’s a much better barista than I am.”

“I’m telling you, dude, yours are way better.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! You just make them in this way that’s really…” He cut himself off, and frowned. “Hey. Wait a second. I didn’t come in here to congratulate your damn coffee.”

“Ah. You didn’t?” Castiel said, his shoulders sinking.

“I mean, I’m not saying that I’m upset the conversation went that way, I’m just saying that I came in with a specific thing to say, and then you put me off.”

“I didn’t put you off,” Castiel said.

“You did!”

“You were the one who said my coffee was better than Starbucks.”

“I - that’s not - stop putting me off when I’m trying to be mad at you!”

“I didn’t mean... you’re mad?” Castiel said, looking concerned, the colour in his cheeks rising.

“Yeah,” Dean said, more firmly than he felt. “And not mad like ‘touched in the head’, either.”

He waited the few seconds that it took to sink in, watching the horror grow on Castiel’s face.

“You…”

“Yeah, that’s right. I was sitting right behind you in The Daily Grind just now. I heard everything you said to Balthazar. About how you pretended to be together by him kissing you, just so that I’d be jealous.” A few more gasps from behind him. The other customers were getting coffee and a show. Dean cleared his throat and focused on Castiel.

“I… I didn’t realise…” Castiel said, his blush brighter than ever.

“You know, I’m a human being, not a… not some kind of…” Dean said, running out of words in the face of Castiel’s pink cheeks, his bright eyes… his closeness, after three days of being apart.

“I know,” Castiel said. “I know, Dean, I just… you weren’t - you didn’t -”

“Well, neither did you!” Dean said.

“I could have got fired if you turned me down and complained!” Castiel retorted. Dean opened his mouth to reply, and then stopped, and tried again.

“Good point,” he said. “Still, you - you could have been a bit more clear! You could have not had your best friend kiss you on the cheek to make me jealous!”

“Well,” Castiel said, looking utterly embarrassed, now, “if that’s all you came here to say -”

“It isn’t!”

“Fine!” Castiel said, seemingly caught up in their angry back-and-forth. “What else would you like to be mad about?”

“Nothing!” Dean said. “I just…” He began to pat down his pockets. Surely he had a - didn’t he have a pen? “I just also came to…” He checked his back pocket - nothing. His front pocket - a spare bolt from a car engine. “I wanted to…” Not even in his coat? Really? Dean sighed. “Do you… maybe… have a pen,” he said, in a much smaller voice.

He looked up into Castiel’s eyes. Castiel had his lips pressed together, as though to prevent himself from smiling. Dean looked away, to stop the grin forming on his own face. It didn’t completely work.

“Here,” Castiel said, pulling a pen out from under the counter and passing it to Dean, who took it, careful not to let their hands touch.

“Fine. Fine. Good,” Dean said, trying to work up some of the momentum he’d lost. “Good! Well. I’m going to use this pen to write my number on your hand.”

“Good,” said Castiel, holding out his hand.

“And you’re going to call me.”

“Good,” said Castiel, as Dean wrote down his number on the palm.

“And I’m going to date you,” Dean said, finishing up.

“Good,” said Castiel, and reached up his hand, pulled Dean in by the collar of his jacket, and kissed him.

#whelvenwingsfic #thebloggerbloggerfun #destieldrabblesdaily #destiel #destiel fic #it my birthdayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #i'm gonna queue this #bc i'll probably be sleeping when it turns my actual bday #but #it's my birthdayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy #i'm so excited #and happy #queue

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