Work Text:
The alarm clock goes off. Another shitty day, Dean laments, as he pushes his weight off the firm mattress and begins his morning routine. He stares at his blood-shot eyes in the mirror before he splashes water onto his face. Half-way through shaving, he cuts the bottom of his chin and swears.
Dean zips his leather jacket and knocks on the large oak door. He rocks back and forth, heel to toe, wearing down the bottoms of his black boots. Meeting a new client always gives him restless energy.
A broad chested, straight shouldered, all-business, man answers the door. His dark brown eyes burrow into Dean's, the wrinkles in his forehead becoming more prominent.
“Come in, now.” The man orders with a swift motion of a large stiff hand.
Dean enters into the foyer. He immediately follows the man, in silence, through an expensive and expansive home. They walk through an already opened door and Dean's motioned to sit in one of two chairs by an unlit fireplace. Dean represses a chuckle at the man’s over-the-top study, complete with a bear-skin rug and grandiose self-portrait of himself as a king.
“So, Dean. You need his picture and schedule, right?” The man inquires, cutting the awkward small talk and broaching the real subject immediately.
“It helps to know your name, but yeah that stuff too.”
The man grabs a manila folder off the end table next to his chair and hands it to Dean.
“Hunter, and here’s his photo with an accompanying schedule.”
Dean opens the folder and a bright tan smiling face looks at him.
“What’d you wanna discover?” Dean asks, wondering what that smile is hiding.
Hunter’s face remains stoic as he replies, “Tell me what you find out. That is all.”
“That’s not—“
“I’ll call in a week. See yourself out,” Hunter says dismissively.
***
As Dean trails the bright tan smiling face, he realizes he's looking forward to each day. He skips shaving to start his assignment earlier. There's a flowing dance, a sort of wiggle, to his movements now. Dean loathes his job. The collecting of dingy information on people who turn out to be nothing more than garbage wears on him. Lurking in the dirt and shadows during the day while relegating himself to his house wears on him. How his clients handle the presentation of the evidence that solidifies their suspicions stays with Dean as well. There are the ones that cry and they make him uncomfortable. But Dean's stained by the ones that are self-satisfied. They live, high on their toxic fumes, believing they are safe because no one has discovered their secrets. They are what make Dean hate his job the most.
But this one, this Seth, he’s different. The blonde-streak valiantly fighting to remain a part of his wavy brunette hair. His elegant, strong-looking fingers that pluck away at his phone or brush a fallen piece of hair out of his face. The bushy beard begging Dean to trail one of his own fingers through it. There isn’t anything to be found, not yet, but Dean doesn't mind looking. Dean hasn’t gone to bed with a knotted fluttery stomach in years. He might like this feeling, this Seth.
Dean wakes up, beginning the second week of the assignment. He's greeted to two missed calls on his phone. Both from Hunter. Clients don’t like to wait. They already have an idea, storyboards drawn out in their head, when they seek out Dean. And if Dean doesn't deliver somehow, either with the answer they need to hear or a photo, they are unhappy. Clients who displace their unhappiness from their situation onto Dean are not good for his business. Like his job or not, it pays the bills. Dean knows he has nothing to show for the week but he has a newly-sparked interest in this assignment. He’ll call Hunter when he knows Seth’ll be there. This should buy him some more time. At least enough to come up with a quick excuse, and that'll have to do for now.
Seth gathers his hair into a tight man-bun. He grabs a small towel, his phone, and opens the door. Before he walks out of his apartment to leave, Seth notices a Quest Bar sitting boldly on the welcome mat. Seth scans quickly for a familiar person and then his phone for a text that maybe he didn’t previously see. He scratches his chin with a look of curiosity and then picks up the bar.
“Gotta be a surprise from Hunter,” Seth decides with a grin.
He bounces over to his car and shoves the bar into his mouth as soon as he gets inside.
***
Hunter yells into the phone. Dean taps his index and middle fingers roughly against his collarbone as he grunts in response to each question. The older man is in a frenzy. Dean knows that his time is rapidly dissolving like butter burning up in a pan.
“Gimme a week more, maybe less.”
“I need the information now,” Hunter demands.
“Gotta comply it an’ all,” Dean fabricates.
“We will speak in four days.”
Before Dean can agree, the line goes dead.
Dean waits, his leg bouncing impatiently, for Seth to return from Hunter’s house. This is the latest he has stayed on an assignment. Personal time, it’s not a phrase Dean is familiar with. Not that he cares about it either. The job has made Dean jaded. He has the privilege of seeing every disgusting layer that hides underneath the polished appearances people put on for each other. But he’s breaking another rule. He is already staring at this man. He already left him that pre-workout snack. He already finds himself thinking about this man when he’s at home, when the job should be left on his welcome mat. He even contemplated watching Hunter, finding out what type of person he is.
The racing thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an incredibly high-pitched squeal and feet hitting the concrete multiple times. Dean looks over at where he left the gift and an excited twinkle sparks in his eyes. Seth is jumping up and down holding Dean’s gift, a huge beam highlighting his features.
“OHMYGOD! I wanted this cd SO BAD!” Seth yells, clutching the cd to his chest.
***
February 13th, Dean’s final day on assignment. His nerves bunch together, creating tension throughout him. He attempts to settle down with a smoke on the way to Seth’s. Flicking the butt out of the window, Dean shifts his gaze to the passenger-seat. A solitary flower and enveloped card ride shotgun. Dean’s thumb glides across the edge of the card, thinking back to the words he wrote on the inside.
Seth, I left you the gifts. There’s something I have to tell you. Please meet me at the Italian restaurant on the corner of main and prairie tomorrow. Your Secret Admirer.
The words tumble around in Dean’s head. He decided upon those words, like a person would choose an outfit. It was the best fit and what he ended up sticking with. He gets out of the car. Dean’s heartbeat echoing in his ears as he approaches Seth’s door. With a silent quickness, Dean slips the card under the welcome mat with a sliver of the red corner peeking out. He places the rose where he had placed the previous gifts, covering the word ‘Welcome’.
Seth’s face is etched with exhaustion. His shoulders are hanging low. Dean chews on his lip and resists the urge to run over and wrap his arms around the slumped man. As he watches Seth stop and bend to pick up the rose, Dean freezes and holds his breath.
“Must wanna make-up…” Seth mumbles.
A dash of color catches Seth’s attention and he snatches the card from where it was hiding. He tears open the envelope with a fresh vibrant energy. His head snaps to the side as he inhales the words without pause. Dean sees Seth’s face transform from excited to shock. A clandestine smile curls upon Seth’s lips as he re-reads the card, savoring each carefully written word.
***
Another call from Hunter goes unanswered. Dean knows that he is risking his reputation at work, but he has spent a lifetime listening to his gut. And his gut is telling him to go through with this and meet Seth tonight. Fuck my job, Dean thinks, I’ll start a new life. He blinks at the rash startling thought, but as it sinks in he is filled with a rush of excitement he hasn’t felt in years. He has lived on autopilot, sifting through the grim and delivering good news for people who seek out bad news. Dean finally wants something to wake up for in the morning. No, Dean corrects, a person to come home to. The thought sends jolts of electricity to his core.
Seth fiddles his car keys from the inside of his pocket. The awkward energy that had propelled him to this point is now making him restless. As he waits, it hits him that he doesn't know who it is he is waiting for. He lets out a small anxious puff of air, trying to analyze the people walking past him without being obvious. Seth watches couples strolling past, hand in hand, dressed up with happy faces and sappy love-drenched eyes. Hunter wants to know why I’m mad, Seth thinks, maybe it’s because he doesn’t look at me like that or take me to places like this anymore.
A lone man walks up towards the entrance and smiles in Seth’s direction. Seth tries to contain his desire to blush. The man has light scruff on his face, a clean dark grey suit, and an adorable tie with cartoon monsters on it. Seth directs his gaze to the ground. He's embarrassed with the fact that he’s alone, underdressed, and eyeballing this stranger intensely.
The man stops near him and in a raspy voice says, “Seth."
Nervous brown eyes meet confident blue ones.
“Y—Yeah?” Seth stutters, looking again at the rugged man who had him blushing a few moments ago. “I’m your secret admirer. But you can call me Dean.”
Seth stares at Dean with a dopey grin, searching for the right words. For any words.
“You’re the surprises and the flower and the card?”
Dean chuckles at him, “Yeah. That was me.”
“But…I don’t understand.”
Dean’s eyes light up as he stares at Seth and exhales.
“Hunter hired me to see what you were up to. Give him some weekly report. Only I didn’t find anything, ‘cept you’re the only good thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen a whole lot of bad an’ awful but you’re right, like right for me. An’ I wanna know you completely an’ maybe you could wanna know me too. When I see you, you make me feel all this stuff I don’t ever feel. I’m not a stupid man or a crazy man so trust me when I say you should give me a chance.”
Seth’s jaw hangs open and he struggles to keep his knees locked in place.
A smirk crosses Dean’s cheek as he pulls out a heart lollipop from his pants pocket.
“I almost forgot to give you this.”
Seth snatches the lollipop, “I love these!”
Dean laughs, “Have dinner with me first. I’m starved.”
Seth cocks his head, “You don’t think I’m underdressed?”
Taking in Seth’s band shirt and skinny jeans Dean shakes his head, “You look perfect to me.”
Seth smiles, grabs Dean’s hand and laces their fingers together, “Can I say something?”
Dean nods, “Always.”
“I’ll go to dinner with you but only under two conditions. If you answer every single question I ask and you brought more lollipops."
Seth gives Dean's hand a squeeze, his head feeling full of helium.
Dean looks at the pretty man holding his hand. Their mushy infatuated-soaked stares mirroring each other’s. Dean thrusts his free hand into the pocket of his dress slacks and produces another pink heart lollipop.
Seth reaches for it, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.
Giggling as they head into the restaurant, Seth asks, “Start with the story behind that tie, is that like your only one?"