yeah i know really nothing about the beatles

medievaldean  asked:

are you still taking prompts? because I have one :two music majors who regularly use adjacent practice rooms at the same ungodly hours of the night/morning AU

Dean whistles, twirling his headphones on his fingers.

It’s absolutely silent in the dark hallway, but that’s how Dean likes it. The practice rooms were a complete mess during the day, all the underclassmen scuffling and scrapping for some rehearsal time—but Dean’s too old for that shit. So he may or may not have bribed Ash to give his ID access to the building past midnight. 

And anyway. Music just sounded better at 2 o’ clock in the morning.

Sammy can bitch all he likes, but Dean’s not worried about getting caught. He’s been doing this for nearly two years, and he’s never seen another soul down here. He’s golden.

He hikes up his bag on his shoulder, and pulls open the door, third one on the right—

And stops dead. Because someone’s already in there.

The dude looks up, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. Dean stares back.

“Can I help you?” The guy asks eventually, raising an eyebrow.


Dean furrows his brow. He vaguely recognizes the guy, remembering the gossip about the new transfer student. The music department was small, and fresh blood was rare. His first day caused a lot of gawking. (Dean may have been part of that gawking too, but nobody needs to know that.)

“The building’s closed,” he ends up saying. Oh, great. Good one, Winchester.

The guy looks him up and down, absently plucking the strings on his guitar. He’s all hooked to the amp already and everything.

"Doesn’t seem to be stopping you.”

Dean blinks a little. 


He shrugs, gesturing around.

“Yeah. I always practice here. This is my practice room.”

“There are three others right next door,” the guy says idly, turning back to his guitar.

Dean narrows his eyes. 

"The tuning’s better in here,” he says shortly.

The guy looks up at that, then glances towards the piano in the corner.

“You?” He asks, his lips curling up slightly. “Piano?”

Dean crosses his arms defensively. “Yeah? And?”

The guy raises a hand. “Nothing.”

He laughs a little.

“You just don’t seem the type.”

Dean rankles. Yes, he knows he doesn’t exactly look the type to be majoring in classical piano, but he’s awesome at it, and he’s already proved time and again that if anyone wanted to give him shit for it, he was more than capable than kicking their ass. Including Mr. Wannabe Rockstar.

“Well, you don’t seem the type to be an douche, yet here we are,” he shoots back.

The guy raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn’t say anything. Dean spreads his hands.

“Well? You gonna move or not?”

The dude looks around for a moment, as if thinking it over.

"Or not,” he says finally, before going back to his guitar.

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