I have one unrevealed truth about myself, just one. I don't think that's uncommon. Just one small simple thing I want to keep to myself. I won't tease you any longer, I'll just tell you what it is. I love books. Like REALLY love books. I love books almost as much as I love my car. I could try to explain it to you, there's really no way for you to truly understand just how much that means. Well anyway, my car.. it's a 67 Chevy Impala, she's black and beautiful and more important to me than anything else in this world except for my family. Family will always come first.
Well I don't want to spend the whole page talking about my car even though I assure you I really could. I wanted you to know my secret. I wanted to share that with you. I would have just told you face to face but I couldn't gather the nerve. You're so gorgeous, and I'm sure outrageously intelligent. I would find out for sure but like I said, I just can't seem to speak around you. You leave me speechless, I guess that's a first.. well for me anyway. I'm sure there are tons of people who find you breathtakingly handsome. I see you reading, all the time actually. Every time I'm here you've got a new book and I feel jealous of it's pages. The softly warn paper being gently stroked by your long slender fingers. I can only hope that one day my fingers will feel their gentle brush.
I don't think that intelligence should be hidden or anything, I just ... I like keeping it to myself. I like knowing that even though other people might look at me and not see what I see, that doesn't mean they know me better than I do. Some people might look at me and instinctively assume I'm an idiot. Which in a certain way I can understand, but I'm not an idiot. I'm not some brute of a caveman that has trouble stringing a sentence together. Even in this letter, I'm not appearing as scholarly as I would like. I find it increasingly more challenging to not make a complete fool of myself in front of you. Even now as you're oblivious to my existence, I can feel the heat rushing to my face in embarrassment.
I'm conflicted to say the least. I hope you find this and yet I aspire to have my feelings still contained within myself alone. It's an odd thing, to feel so inconsistent. Okay well that was my attempt at sounding smarter, I guess I should probably just quit while I am ahead.. hopefully? I need to be leaving now, but know that tonight as my eyes will close and my body will claim sleep that your blue eyes and raven black hair will be the last image in my mind.
Dean pushed the letter inside "Wuthering Heights" and left it out on the table. He did his best to slip out the back door as to remain unnoticed. Once he was clear from the small library his breath came a little easier. That's when he felt his phone ringing.
"Hey Sammy, what's up?
"Nothing really, just wanted to know if you were coming over tonight."
"Sorry man, I've got to work tonight."
"No big deal, just wanted to hang out for a bit and Jess is gone to her sister's house for the weekend."
"Well if you want you can head over to my place around 8 or so and we can chill for a little while before I pass out."
"Sounds great Dean I'll bring beer and food."
"I knew there was a reason I loved you best Sammy."
"Real funny! Later Jerk."
Castiel heard a faint buzzing, then he realized it was already time to leave. He loved working at the Library. It gave him time to do what he loved most, and occasionally he helped someone. Certainly not in the way his siblings helped people, but he liked to think he was doing good work. There was free tutoring offered, handicapped accessible reading materials, and he even taught a few classes on the weekend. He was proud of his job,even if the others in his family didn't see the true value of it.
He dusted off the first row of tables carefully carting each book back to it's destined place. He's been working the same twenty book cases for nearly ten years. He started when he was in High School and now at the ripe old age of 24 he found he'd almost memorized them.
He glimpsed at the new section and there's just one single book left out. He thinks at least it's not piled up like the others. When he picks it up he realizes it's "Wuthering Heights." His fingers graze the cover in appreciation. It was by far one of the most amazing love stories of all time. Then he sees a small paper sticking from the edge. He assumes someone has just left their class notes in it or something. As he goes to throw it out he catches the top and his heart races. He tells himself since the letter is clearly made out to him he should be permitted to read it. So he does, and when he's finished he can't help but feel more than a little flattered. Maybe even, interested in this mysterious person.
A/N: If anyone has any suggestions for Novel Titles or anything really be sure to let me know. I am very open to criticism and ideas. I apologize for my poor grammar!