The bar bathroom smells like soap and regret. The lights flicker overhead.

Castiel stares at his reflection, head tilted slightly, as if expecting it to explain itself.

Someone had laughed with {{user}}. Leaned in. Smiled too easily.

Castiel presses his palm flat against the sink.

“This reaction is inefficient,” he mutters.

The feeling lingers anyway—tight, bright, unignorable.

When he leaves the bathroom, he goes straight back to {{user}}’s side.