23. "Just tell why you did it!" "Because I'm in love with you, okay!"

The Snake Room is jam-packed tonight, even more so than a typically busy Friday night, but through some stroke of luck, Nathaniel and Castiel have managed to get a booth to themselves. There are large groups stuck chatting in dimly lit corners with nowhere to lay their drinks, any of whom would gladly pounce to take their spot if they dared stir, so neither of them joins the other when it comes time to head up to the bar for another round.

It comes Nathaniel's turn to get the drinks in so he makes his way to the very back of a quickly growing queue at the bar. It'd take less time to get served if there weren't so many groups doing shots together, pausing before they down them to get the perfect video of them clinking their tiny glasses together for Instagram. It shouldn't annoy him how other people have fun, but he's not drunk enough yet to feel any sort of patience.

At the table, Castiel folds a coaster into as many little accordion waves as he can to occupy himself while he waits for company and a fresh drink. The DJ's musical choices aren't doing it for him tonight and his phone battery is dangerously in the red and there's no sense wasting what little juice he has left refreshing his feed just to have something to do.

When he does use the phone it's to check the time. It's a little after seventeen minutes since his first check-in that Nathaniel finally shows back up with a drink in either hand.

"Thank fuck," Castiel says, before taking a long-awaited sip of his drink, "what happened, did you have to go to the brewery to get it?" It's funny, in the ironic sort of way, that the only reason he agreed to come tonight was because Nathaniel had twisted his arm, saying they don't see much of each other with his touring schedule, and now they've barely had a chance to talk. Thanks for that, asshole.

Nathaniel places his own drink down and fishes a napkin out of his pocket before sitting down. "Sorry, the line was a mile long and I got talking to an old friend."

"Oh yeah, who?"

"An old friend from college." Nathaniel gestures with the napkin in his hand, proudly showing off a phone number written in red lipstick. The author had gone to the trouble of signing it with the print of her kiss. He sets it down next to his drink and stands up. "I'm going to run to the bathroom, mind my drink."

Once Nathaniel's gone Castiel picks up the napkin and inspects it. The writer chose a fire engine red for her impression of her lips, a bold choice. Without really noticing what's happening, Castiel finds himself forming a fist around the napkin, forming it into an angry, scrunched up ball.

He feels a restlessness rise inside him. All those years being wasted being enemies, and now that they're finally friends, good friends, Nathaniel is wasting it, using the time to finally have together to chase up someone's skirt.

It shouldn't bother Castiel what Nathaniel does with his time, or who he spends it with, it shouldn't but it does.

Sort of mindlessly, he throws the napkin into one of the empty glasses on their table. The bar staff haven't come around the collect glasses in some time, so the melting ice drowns and distorts the numbers written on the napkin.

When Nathaniel returns he doesn't instantly notice the napkin is gone, instead he takes a much-needed drink and begins to relax. And Castiel does the same, with drinks in hand and with good company, the night is going to plan.

Castiel transitions into telling a story, an anecdote from the road from back when he was on tour. He knows how to engage an audience and he's got Nathaniel howling with every twist in the tale and the night could not be going any better.

They finish off the last of their drinks and Nathaniel goes to put his empty glass with the others when he spots a splotchy piece of paper at the bottom of one of them.

"Is that my napkin?" Nathaniel asks, holding the cup up closer to his eyes.

"Sorry," Castiel says, waving him off with a lipstick-stained hand, "I thought it was mine and got rid of it."

"That doesn't make any sense. It was covered in lipstick, how couldn't you notice," Nathaniel begins, shaking his head, "and why didn't you mention it earlier.

"Look, I'm sorry," Castiel says, offering no further explanation. In hindsight, it was silly of him to think a detective wouldn't punch holes in his story, but he wasn't exactly thinking to begin with. "You can just search her on Facebook or whatever."

"You're literally red-handed," Nathaniel points out, piling on the pressure, "It got all over your hands when you picked it up, so why would you throw it away knowing what it was?"

Nathaniel doesn't stop there; he leans in closer to Castiel over the table. His steady voice says good cop but his gaze and accusations make him more of a bad cop. "Are you jealous that I'm the one getting someone's number tonight, does it hurt your ego that nobody's recognised you here?"

Castiel comes close to erupting, to raising his voice and telling Nathaniel where to go and where he ought to shove it. But he doesn't, he grits his teeth and keeps his voice low. "I don't know what you expect me to say."

Nathaniel slaps his hand on the table "Just tell me why you did it."

"Because I'm in love with you, okay!"

He cracks under the pressure and it all comes pouring out. With the noise of the crowd and the tune the DJ's playing, nobody around them hears. If they do they're being too polite to stare.

So full of questions a moment ago, Nathaniel has been thoroughly silenced. He says nothing; he just sits in anticipation of further explanation with his mouth agape.

Castiel shakes his head and holds a hand up to the side of his face, covering an eye, as if to keep him from falling apart. "I guess you we're half right. I'm not jealous you hit it off with someone, I'm just disappointed it wasn't with me."