Disclaimer :: My Candy Love, Castiel and Nathaniel don't belong to me.

Tell me the story
about how the moon
loved the sun so much,
he died every night
to let him breathe.

The person who knew Castiel the best was not himself.

It could possibly be Lysander, but in actuality there existed someone else who knew him far better than even the silver-haired Victorian boy. After all, this person has been with Castiel for a very long time, long enough to know what he was like when he was angry, when he was sad, when he was overjoyed, when he was hurt. This person has seen all the sides to Castiel, even the ones the red head thought that no one knew, because this person cared, even when it didn't seem like it to anyone else.

Nathaniel didn't see Castiel's face when Deborah's game was up, but he didn't have to. He knew that look, saw it once before. Once was enough: the desperation, the hurt in those eyes was forever ingrained in his memory. He never wanted to see it again. No one, not even insufferable Castiel, should ever have to look like that.

Sighing, the student body president pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering vaguely how things would have turned out if Candy hadn't intervened, if she was a watcher just like him, because he was always the watcher and never the do-er. It was just his way, though, of continuing what kind of, little friendship he had with Castiel, back when they were kids. Looking at it now, it was a miracle how they ever existed in the same room, for he and Castiel were like night and day: complete opposites, clashingly different, incompatible to the very core. But, just like the moon, Nathaniel always watched over his friend, always made sure that he was okay, even if the president did hate him and his delinquent ways.

Friendship was a strange thing after all, and it worked in strange ways.

Nathaniel took a deep breath before coming out from around the corner, holding out his hand to stop Candy from going after Castiel. His eyes told her that he would handle it, though he wasn't sure if she understood. She did stay back though, and he was grateful for at least that much.

Taking another breath, the blond followed his friend into the garden. Though his back was turned to him, Nathaniel could practically see that look in his eye, could practically hear the break of his heart. Not even Castiel, loud mouthed, rude, obnoxious Castiel, could beat out the destructive power of love.

He knew what Castiel needed the most.

Nathaniel swung the first punch that day, but the story never got out. The two fought, just like they always have and, without interruption, they fought viciously, fueled by the build-up of emotions from since they were kids. Swinging, ducking, grunting, bleeding, they fought and from that exchange, the two somehow began to understand each other, somehow began to realize that they were always there for each other in a weird, roundabout way, somehow came to the conclusion that their hate was not as deep as they thought it was.

Because friendship is a strange thing, and it lasted, no matter how much people change inside.

By the end, Nathaniel laid panting on the ground, with Castiel's fingers closed around his neck, squeezing. The president wasn't worried though, because he expected this outcome, planned for it. This fight was not meant to be their last, so he could give at least one win to the sun.

The silence stretched on.

"You know," he murmured after a while, closing his eyes and breathing deep, "I don't think that… that I really hate you."

There was no response, and Nathaniel kept his eyes shut… until he felt tears streaming down his cheeks.

Not his though.


"Dammit," Castiel said, his voice breaking, his entire body trembling, "don't you fucking dare open your fucking eyes you piece of shit, or I fucking swear to God I'll-"

"Stop cursing; we're in school," Nathaniel snapped and the two fell silent, with the president's eyes still closed and the guitarist's tears still falling, his arms still shaking with all the weight they had to support.

They stayed like that for a while, chests heaving, as Castiel found comfort in the least likely person. He didn't understand anything anymore; why would Nathaniel of all people do this for him? Why was there such a fine line between love and hate? Not that he loved the president, but was his hate really only skin deep?

Then again, Deborah's love was only skin deep. At that thought, he could feel the bitterness well up in him again, could feel pain clawing at his heart, squeezing it until his breath came in ragged gasps. And he hurt Candy too, Candy, who just wanted to help-

"Don't think about it," Nathaniel murmured knowingly, almost soothingly, "I don't have the strength to fight you again."

The silence stretched on once more, and the blond didn't expect anything else. They could never be friends. After all, they were too different. And he knew Castiel: he wouldn't change things between them. He put their past behind him, just like Nathaniel ought to have done. It just wouldn't work. He was the moon, Castiel was the sun. They watched each other, but they could never meet, never understand. Castiel will never understand.

But friendship was weird that way.

"I don't…" Castiel started, the words whispered so quietly that Nathaniel didn't realize he was talking until he cleared his throat and repeated it just a bit louder, his sadness replaced by a sort gruff gratitude that he rarely exhibited, "I don't fucking need this from you."

Nathaniel scowled at this and was about to bite back when he noticed the tiny smirk at the corner of the red head's lips.

This was the Castiel he knew.