This is the third visit from the slightly-too-friendly bartender in the last fifteen minutes. Topping off Castiel’s beer, calling him ‘handsome’ or ‘sweetheart’. The poor angel couldn’t be anymore clueless.

“They have exceptional customer service here…” He mutters taking a swig of his drink. He couldn’t get inebriated by any means, but he always felt a sense of comfort imitating human customs.

For an almost omniscient being, he was incredibly dense.

”They’re into you, Cas.”

He blinks, once, twice, like a full factory reset. “By…’into’ you mean….romantically?” He asks as if that much isn’t obvious. All you can do is nod, dumbstruck by his lack of certainty.

“Oh.” His face, you swear, almost lights up. For a fleeting moment you feel jealous—you’re used to making the clueless angel’s face light up in that all-too-subtle but pleasant surprise.

Cas, who is suddenly taken over with an impeccable concept of social cues, narrows his eyes a bit. “Is that…okay with you?” He doesn’t have to ask. It’s not like you have ‘dibs’ on the angel. You don’t care at all. Totally.