Author's Note: Was gonna add this to my craptastic collection under the title Chest Pains, but then I decided not to. Cause that's been running on (more or less) slash the past few updates, so it's about time I change that up with some het or femslash. Thus why this little crappy drabble-babble is standing all by its lonesome. Irrelevant title is from Sleeping Sickness.

"I can't believe Marcese actually thought you and me were a couple," Castiel snickered, "I told her if you really were saying fruity shit like that to me, you wouldn't get away with it without getting punched in the face."

All Lysander could do was not flinch at the words. The words that arrested the blood-pumping organ in his chest with the sharpest of pains. Love unrequited was hard enough. Love unrequited that would earn you scorn and a punch in the face from your best friend was insufferable. "Is that so?" He managed to choke out, strenuously hoping that he sounded as light as the redhead would expect him to.

"Yup," Castiel replied, attention on the guitar he was lazily strumming. Back comfortably pressed against the overstuffed armchair, loose sweatpants sagging and torso bare aside from the scarlet instrument he caressed and tweaked with. Castiel in his natural habitat. Lysander liked him best that way, at complete ease with a leisure smile on his lips that the silver-haired male hadn't quite figured out yet.

The sting hadn't faded.

It was still piercing and dreadfully sharp enough to torture him more than any real wound could have. Vainly, Lysander attempted to rub it away. That was beyond illogical, but being in love with someone who clearly distastes the very idea is even more illogical. So why not?

It really shouldn't hurt this bad though, should it? He'd always known his affection wouldn't go anywhere, that it was a lost cause and impossible to pursue. So it shouldn't hurt this much to be brought to his face. To be denied in the open with his friend's dismissive disgust. If anything, this certainty should make Lysander feel better.

"You okay?" Castiel was looking at him curiously, a slight frown on his mouth.

Lysander swallowed. He fluttered a blink, movements delayed as he lowered his hand from his chest. "Yes, just...Yes."

"Heartburn or something?"

"Probably."

The redhead stared at him a moment longer, then gave a shrug and returned to his idle playing. "That sucks."

"Indeed," sighed Lysander, failing to keep the hitch out of his breath.

Castiel paused again, looked up and took a harder stare. Charcoal gaze dubious, but concerned. He really had no clue. Which was honestly for the better. Being clued in on Lysander's feelings would undoubtably worsen the matter.

"You sure you're okay? You look weird, Lys."

"A little tired," he answered and laid down on the couch just so he wouldn't have to look his friend in the face anymore. But gray eyes still burned into him, unconvinced. "Could you play something for me?" If anything could change the subject, that would.

"Sure," said the redhead. "What do you want to hear?"

"One of your originals. I don't care which." The sting was still there. Unyielding, unfading. As sharp as ever and not a bit easier to bear.

"Alright," Castiel smiled again, the relaxed, subtle quirk of the lips that Lysander was ceaselessly fond of. "It's funny you'd suggest that, because I just wrote something new last night."

"Really?"

"Yeah." The redhead ran a hand through his tousled hair, the heat of a blush warming his face. "You know, for that one girl."

Castiel noticed Lysander was asleep in between letting Demon outside and scrounging around the fridge for something crunchy. He grabbed a worn fleece throw from the floor and lightly laid it over his friend. He was about to continue his search for a late night snack, when a perturbing observation held him in place. There were beads of moisture in the silver-haired teen's lashes and a single tear track stained his cheek.