Castiel unhurriedly made his way to the coffee bar he had spotted in the corner. He stumbled a couple times, not watching where he walked too intently.
The area was not too populated since people would much rather have alcoholic drinks than coffee in the evening. The glossy tiled floors continued around the coffee bar, just in case anyone spilled anything.
If he were to touch the ground, it would be lifelessly cold. Not the kind of ground he would want to end up with his head against.
Castiel with all his inconveniences was usually against consuming anything in social settings, but his ribcage was about to collapse. His legs held him firmly, but if he spent an extra second thinking about them, they would realize slacking was an option and collapse.
Castiel took a small paper cup from the mountain of them towering off the table. He closed the machine's lid and waited for it to pierce through the pod and begin producing coffee. He dragged the cup away as the last few drops fell. He poured four packets of sugar into the cup, unevenly ripping them one by one. The last piece of flimsy paper slipped through his fingers and landed in the hot drink. He wrapped his fingers around the cup, absorbing all its toxically radiating warmth. With a sigh he poked the paper with his fingernail, carefully fishing it off the surface before it sank any further.
Glaring at the cup of egregiously diluted coffee, Castiel was inclined to throw it against the wall. But self control is important, and so he picked it up and took a painstaking sip. It was disgusting, like drinking room temperature water mixed with pieces of stale bread and coloured with dirt. Castiel's body internally recoiled, refusing to consume this useless mixture of what was supposed to be coffee.
He sighed and set the cup down on the table, disappointed in the same way a tired single father would be when hearing his child lied about being mistreated to the school counselor. Shaking his head in a baffled manner, he huffed with a smile of mockery and disbelief on his face. He glanced over to a random flock of people, not wanting to spare any more attention on this disgrace of a beverage.
Surrounded by easily entertained people, there was a man with a peculiar grin on his face. It was bizarre that people seemed to follow the man around like sheep to their shepherd. Anyone who had the ability to admire would marvel at his natural and experienced attitude. His laughs sounded carefree, but would be incomplete without a subtle condescending tone. He knew people listened to his words like scripture. He lavished them with compliments just specific enough to make someone feel like he truly spoke from the heart. 'This shade of red suits your lips perfectly', and 'that haircut of yours gives you a clean and refreshing appearance, I would one-hundred percent choose you as my spokesperson.' Words of exaggerated flattery, and people shamelessly basked in all of it.
Castiel spent a small fraction of his energy on background processing to follow and pay attention to all the fluid and appropriate responses Samael had. It wasn't textbook beautiful up to Castiel's standards of liking, but it was undoubtedly impressive. To him, it was interesting exactly in a mundane way. There was nothing outrageously conspicuous about Samael's mannerisms, and it was hard to tell whether they're thoroughly thought out or not.
Samael had noticed this seemingly clueless peer of his a while ago, it wasn't difficult for him to feel when needle-like stares were being experimentally poked into every inch of his skin like he was a test subject. Though when he finally turned his head in that direction, Castiel looked away in avoidance. He did it in such a manner that made it look so natural, as if he wasn't looking at all.
He shifted the majority of his weight to his left leg and gazed at the ceiling, inspecting the carved designs in it. They told some sort of story of the artist. Even in the modern day, this age-old building remained communicative, and even classy if you were to stretch it.
Returning to watching the people around him, he spotted a certain individual closely approaching him. He stood a few feet away, a comfortable and experimental distance. "Are you not a fan of the coffee?" Samael raised a brow after glancing at the full cup in the other's hand, encouraging an honest response.
Castiel blinked and contemplated if there was any purpose in lying. "It's not the greatest I've had," he narrowed his eyes and looked off to the side after he spoke.
Samael nodded, "honesty is a great virtue you seem to have," he laughed in a friendly tone. He continued to smile, allowing there to be a moment of silence for the both of them.
Castiel returned his focus to the man in front of him after not hearing any new words for a second longer than he had expected. He tilted his head slightly and blinked, "I'd hate to say that to someone who likes it though."
Samael also tilted his head, mirroring Castiel with a grin, "thankfully that wouldn't be me."
"Is there something you need?"
Samael raised his eyebrows and shrugged, "not in particular." He too, narrowed his eyes and proceeded to advance the conversation, "you look quite tired."
Castiel held his head in the tilted position, growing exhausted at these unending superficial questions and statements. "You think so?"
"Your posture is hunched over, and you don't seem to be immersed in your surroundings as much." Samael tapped his chin, acting as if he was making genius deductions. His eyes went wide and he gasped with a hand loosely over his mouth. "Are they overworking you?" he exclaimed, "our company is always open for hiring talent like you, you know."
Castiel held back a sigh and pushed his glasses up at the shameless recruiting, this conversation lacked productivity. What an unprofessional thing to ask someone. He curved the corners of his mouth up into a slight smile, "no, I'm treated fairly well." Which wasn't a lie; he's paid well, is given many opportunities, free to do whatever outside of work. It was above standard.
Samael's expression drooped slightly, finding his response to be predictable, though it was to be expected of a loyal employee. Maybe small talk wasn't so telling.
"Only a starving person would continue to drink a coffee that tastes horrible," or only someone with such a lack of energy would crave it.
Castiel hummed and shook his head, "you don't seem to be the type to enjoy small talk." He brushed off the previous question.
Samael breathed out a singular laugh, "neither do you."
Castiel couldn't hide his irritated glare, "oh so you were aware?" He smiled as an attempt to soften his harsh intent, "and you chose to keep speaking?"
"You must really enjoy being told what to do the whole day," he leaned forward, with a slightly condescending look on his face. "People tend to dislike being limited, but of course many also follow the leaders blindly. Which one would this coffee connoisseur be?"
Castiel's eyes widened slightly, what a provoking way of saying he can't think for himself. Humans are things that heavily prefer and even fight for freedom, but order is needed in certain settings. He's just doing his job. "Is following rules a crime?"
"No, and I never said that." He put his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilted his head forwards, eyeing the other man inquisitively. "You must be living like a programmed machine with autopilot on." There's a slim tinge of pity or even sympathy, "aren't you sick of it?"
What was this, some kind of manipulation tactic or maybe even mockery? Before Castiel could properly respond, the idiot began his speech once again.
"If you keep following rules, how will you ever know if they're truly fair or not?" He holds out a finger and shakes it in front of the man's face like he was disciplining a child. He felt the shame in seeing such an advanced piece of technology doing the same simple and repetitive jobs that factory machines were made for.
All these genuinely valid arguments, Castiel wanted to consider them later on. Further insight to one's sense of identity was never an unrewarding experience. He lazily studied the lanky man's stance, he didn't exactly seem to want to be there either. "Have you been forced to be here then?"
Samael let out a full, heavy sigh and clicked his tongue. "I organized this event, I wasn't forced." He crossed his arms and maintained his confident appearance, despite knowing he was spewing lies.
Castiel's eyes flickered a bit, seeing how the other man acted defensively. He decided to take a sip of his luke-warm, heavily diluted, useless cup of coffee. Immediate regret isn't something people often experience, but this coffee induced much more regret than any person could expect. The flavour of it was just purely hate inducing. Who would want this? Castiel sighed and redirected his thoughts, finding this useless to keep thinking about. Returning to the main point, he was sold that this man was a liar.
Samael snapped his fingers and leaned towards his companion again, "your handshake," he suddenly mentioned.
Castiel tilted his head, not expecting such a comment. "What about it?" Castiel said as he pressed his back against the wall with his shoulders sunken.
"You shook my hand differently than how you did with my boss, is this because you view me as of lower importance?"
"Are you critiquing me about my handshake?" Castiel straightened himself up and stood with his feet stable on the ground, almost face to face with Samael. With a flick of the corners of his lips, he formed his usual polite smile and extended his hand in a rigid way, hastily offering another attempt. He mercilessly bent his arm in a similar manner to something like an excavator, which was jarring and didn't help his case.
"Perhaps, well I mean, they're more important than you think." Samael gladly took the man's hand, perhaps a little too readily so. Samael's handshake was much more relaxed and overly friendly, like an old classmate. Was this surrender? No, it was something far less entertaining. Just another mutual test.
Castiel grasped his hand with a medium grip and increased its firmness upon the casual friendliness of Samael. He shook minimally, while the other held loosely but greatly urged a vigorous shake. The two of them stood still with their hands interlocked in an unconventional competition. Both remained silent and simply stared at each other for longer than prompted.
"So then Mr. Mortimer," he waited for the other to let go of his hand before continuing. " As I was saying, you look tired. Exhausted even, might I suggest it's from a reason other than lack of sleep?"
Castiel raised a brow, his sleep experience was quite sufficient. His pillow was always accommodating, his house was clean and devoid of unwanted pests. Nightmares were also rarely, if ever an issue. Though when was the last time he had actually laid down his head?
Seeing as there was no sign of a response, Samael tirelessly took initiative. "Look at you doused in black like a mourning wife, miserably sipping away at what gross coffee remains in your cup." He places his hand on Castiel's shoulder and pats in comfortingly while shaking his head.
Castiel bit his tongue, this was the third time someone had patted his shoulder. Was his shoulder begging to be touched today? He inched away from Samael and felt disgusted, wanting to retreat into his coat.
Castiel narrowed his eyes, his brows and nose scrunching slightly with his lip frowned on one side. He hasn't been in an English class in years, he can't remember how to dissect poetry. Again, the mention of that poor quality coffee – repulsing.
Castiel smiled and blinked for the hundredth time, unsure how much longer he could keep this up. "So you're telling me that I lack the joy of life?"
Samael raised a brow, his lips quirking into a smug grin. "Oh and look at that, it's my confirmation your only source of happiness in life would come from your husband?"
The further puzzled Castiel fought his urge to scream, forcing his fists to remain posted in their positions; they're being paid to stand courteously.
What was this irritating pest going on about, a husband? He then recalled the man's earlier comment about his clothing and felt stupid for almost lashing out. At this moment, he felt he was not paid enough.
Where do these extended interpretations come from? Some people read too far into certain situations or words, it's an inefficient use of thinking. It was quite irritating to be read as a widowed woman, black isn't strictly funeral clothing.
He took a sip of the coffee, which was three quarters empty – one quarter too full. Watered down and irksome, cheap coffee. It was enough to upset the average person's stomach, like the sickness everyone experienced at least once.
Samael lifted his head at a high angle while watching the other continue to drink. Peering at Castiel, who's gaze remained stuck inside the walls of the cup. Castiel drank so passively it almost made the coffee look acceptable, it encouraged him to pour himself a cup as well.
Castiel glanced up at Samael, feeling a tingly feeling on his nose. He put the cold cup down and vaguely tilted his head forward, "you'll regret it."
Regardless, Samael poured himself a cup and took a sip.
The angels were crying their songs of glorious agony. "It's always worth it," Samael had foolishly said, underestimating the level of deception he was under.
Forget Castiel getting his hands on a gun and shooting Samael dead; this coffee was so nauseating it was bound to pierce his liver like a bullet.