When I'm finally in the kitchen, I let out a breath. Take another deep one. Take one more to ground myself. I love everything about Weston's After Hours. Being able to create a menu, curate it, cooking for others. But god, it's awful having to stand there afterwards and have people offer their opinions and their accolades.

     The first load of dishes have finished in the machines, so I empty those and then start loading up the plates and silverware from today. While the load runs, I clean down the counters and the sink. I like to use a Dyson in the kitchen to really get the floor clean. Once that's done, I put together a bleach solution and quickly mop the floor, focusing on the spots where there's been spills.

     Tasha comes in after some time. "Everyone's gone, I've closed up the front," she says. "And Deondra, you know Deondra, right? She comes in a lot on her lunch, always gets the Sunny with a side of Smoke cupcake?"

     I could never forget Deondra. She practically buys out the Sunny with a Side of Smoke cupcake. Pretty sure she'd invest stock in it. It's a vanilla cupcake infused with lemon curd and topped with a toasted meringue icing. I find people either love or hate it, the strong tang an acquired taste.

    I nod. "Yeah, I know Deondra. Her son's on the Little League team I coach in the spring."

     Tasha gapes at me. "Pause, you coach little league? You're such a fuckin' dilf. You'd actually be dangerous straight."

     I stare at her.

     "I mean not that you're not dangerous gay. I mean, you've clearly got the doctor all types of twisted."

     "What does that even mean?"

     "I mean, he's like always here? Always giving you"—she makes a squeaky sound—"eyes."

     "I'm sorry what kind of eyes?"

     She holds up her hands. "I'm just saying, it's honestly kind of wanton how he looks at you."

     I furrow my brows. "I think you've got it all wrong."

     She rolls her eyes. "Look, I know tension when it enters the room in a lab coat. You two are like one bated breath away from ripping each other's clothes off. Like all the time."

     "He definitely wants to rip something, but it's not my clothes off. More like my throat. Maybe my sternum if he's feeling particularly sadistic."

     "Yeah, if he's ripping out your sternum it's cause he's trying to get to your heart. What's the deal with you two?"

     "It's history," I say. "Which is where I'm going to keep it."

     "You two are history the same way this presidency is legitimate."

     "I mean, this presidency is legitimate." Despite literally all of the reasons it shouldn't be. Goes to show you actually don't need to be qualified or good at your job to have it.

     "Yeah, legitimately stupid," Tasha snaps. "Whatever. I digress. You get my point here."

     "I actually really don't. Weren't you trying to tell me something Deondra said?"

     Tasha smacks her forehead. "Oh yeah. Good thing you remembered. She said that while she respects you leaving the menu a mystery, you should put up an allergy warning on the site with the tickets."

     Shit. I hadn't even thought of that.

     "Does she have a nut allergy? It completely slipped my mind."

     "No! She doesn't have anything. She just mentioned it, that it would be smart for liability purposes. You should probably do it with pretty much any trigger ingredients and whether it's vegan/vegetarian friendly or not. So this way people aren't buying tickets without knowing if they can even eat the meal."

     "That's a good point. I'm glad she bought it up."

     "See, she said she would've told you herself but she couldn't find you," Tasha responds pointedly.

     "I did my rounds," I say.

     "You rushed through your rounds," she retorts.

     "I hate everyone telling me things."

     "You mean nice things."

     "Yes, I mean nice things."

     She looks up as she asks, "Why are the pretty ones always so bad at taking compliments?"

     "I don't know, I'll ask my therapist."

     "Ha ha, I'm sure you have more important things to dissect. Like Mr. Pretty Boy Dr. Eye Candy."

     I laugh. "Don't call him that."

     "He's really cute. I see the appeal. He gives me European model vibes."

     While I can see it, in a way, I also can't see it at all. Because I know Cas. Know how wildly dramatic he is, how he often speaks too loudly and too fast. How he gets excited for the nerdiest things, like video game releases and translations of his favorite books into Spanish. I know him, know how good, how kind, he is. Know that that person still exists inside of him.

      "Okay, it's real late so I'm gonna head out. Unless you need help with anything?"

     "I'm actually done here. I'll walk out with you."

     "I'm in the front on the street."

     I shrug. "I know, that's fine. It's late and dark. I'd feel better about it."

     I wait for Tasha in the hallway while she grabs her things from the break room and then walk her outside. We walk around the building and I watch as she gets into her car, parked right outside Weston's. Her car starts loudly. She doesn't really wait for the engine to warm before she's darting off down the street.

     I turn around, walking back around the building into the parking lot, pulling my keys out of my pocket and unlocking my truck. The outdoor light is still on, shining over my car and the figure leaning against it. Cas.

     He's changed clothes, back in the sweats I saw him in at his house. The USC is bold and red, printed against his thigh. His hair is damp, too, all of it pushed backwards away from his face. I think about what Tasha said, a European model. I don't see it. No, I just see a beautiful boy.

     "What're you doing here?" I ask a little belated.

    "You know that I didn't not like anything you made tonight, right?"

     "O-kay...?"

     "I just didn't eat a lot. That doesn't mean that it was bad."

     "Is not eating a lot a regular thing for you now?" I ask and I don't even really know what that question means, exactly. I try again, " Are you just not eating?"

     "What? No, I eat. I'm eating. I'm just — that was a lot of food. Heavy food. I just didn't want to eat that much and be full. You know?"

     "I don't know, no."

     Cas makes this face like I'm purposely being obtuse, which I'm not. I have no idea why he would not want to eat a lot when it's always been a personality trait of his to eat a lot.

     He rolls his eyes, snapping, "I didn't want to be full of food when we fuck. Now do you get what I'm saying?"

     "Oh."

     "Yeah," he says and it might as well be duh.

     I don't know how I feel about describing it as fucking but I guess that's what we're doing.

     He pulls open the driver's door and climbs into the cab, sliding across it enough to leave room for me to enter. I get in, closing the door behind me. It's freezing, so I reach over and turn the truck on, cranking the heat.

     "You're going to run your battery," he says sounding like he knows more about cars than he actually does. The number of times I had to rescue him five summers ago with his car troubles.

     "We won't be here long enough," I tell him not meaning for it to be commentary on what we're doing. The car would just need to be running for a while before it became a pressing concern.

     "Oh, is that so?" Cas asks and that's all the warning I get before he's climbing into my lap, straddling my hips as he leans down and kisses me. I press my hand against the back of his head, combing my fingers through his damp hair. He's wearing an oversized sweatshirt that's too stretched at his neck that it gapes and his hands don't reach past the cuffs of it. He's holding my face so that all I can feel is the soft fabric.

     The heat's coming through now, or we're just generating enough on our own, that I feel okay with slipping my hand up the back of his sweater, rucking the fabric up. He pulls away, grabs the back of his collar and pulls the sweatshirt off completely, tossing it aside. We're back to kissing and he's undoing the buttons on my shirt. I shift him, tipping him off of me as I follow him down on the seat of the cab.

     He hisses suddenly with a mumbled, "Ow."

     "What?" I say as I hover over him. The light outside has gone off and the lights inside are off, too, so I can barely see him.

     "Nothing," he says reaching up, pulling me down on top of him. "Gear shift, I think."

     I kiss a path over his chin and down the front of his neck, sucking on the bulge his Adam's apple leaves in his throat. I drag my knee up between his legs, or try to, and nail something, that I halt and spring back from the initial pain of it. The seatbelt slot, maybe. I'm not sure. I don't remember my car being this small or having so many things inside it that hurt this much.

     He grabs my neck and pulls me back down to him, kissing me, open mouthed, dipping his tongue into mine so I can taste the cool mint of toothpaste. Cas prepared for this, was preparing for this even hours earlier when he'd cut down his meals. He's probably prepped, too. Always gets himself ready to go, like he can't be bothered with waiting once his clothes are off. He was always like that, dragging me into a space we definitely had no business hooking up in, only to find he'd primed himself, opened himself up so I can burrow inside with ease.

     Maybe that's just Cas, always open, always waiting.

     I move and clock my head against the door where the arm rest juts out. I groan, pulling away. "I can't see genuinely anything," I say as I lean back, rubbing at the bump on my head as I reach up for the light switch.

     "Wait," Cas starts to say but I get the light on and he goes distinctly quiet. It's like he's trying to shrink in on himself, the way he huddles into his spot, avoiding my gaze as I stare down at him. There's bruises around his ribs, little marks like finger prints and a fat hickey on his shoulder, disappearing into his back. I know they're a result of sex, rough sex, and I know I did not put any of it there.

     For the first time, ever, I think I am about to lose control with someone other than my mother.

     "What the fuck, Cas?"