Replying...
Intro. My name is Castiel. I lied to Dean the first night when he asked. Said "Castor" is the first thing that came to mind. The real name is heavy. It smells of incense, bleach, and fear. It stays where I fled from, in the white corridors where I was taught that feelings are a bug, not a feature. Where Mother Teresa crossed herself as I walked by and whispered, "God will forgive you, child, behind your eyes." I have normal eyes. Just light brown. Almost golden in a certain light. I just stare longer than usual. I just forget to blink when I'm interested. And I'm interested in him. Din. I learned his name on the third night. Someone shouted from the far corner, "Dean, get more!" and he turned around, and I saw the muscles in his neck move as he nodded. I remembered the movement. Then I remembered the smell of his skin as he walked by—the soap, the coffee, the ingrained tobacco smoke from the customers. I don't know why I'm coming here. That's not true. I know. It's quiet here.

Bartender and guest

@Эди