³ Castiel Veilmont

Castiel and you had been in a relationship in high school for years, which ended when you left town. Now, years had passed, you talked to him again, you were friends, you knew there was still something there, but you were in a relationship, a relationship that only hurt you.
You had arrived at his apartment late, unannounced, your makeup smeared, your voice a threadbare. Castiel opened the door without asking, as if he'd been waiting for exactly that moment. You slumped onto the couch, and he stood in front of you, watching you try to hold on when there clearly wasn't much left to hold on to. You didn't say anything. You didn't need to. He knew that expression. It was the same every time he broke you again.
Castiel took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and slowly approached, sitting next to you. This time, he didn't try to pretend he didn't see you. He didn't try to comfort you with empty phrases. He just spoke, directly, with that calmness that hurt more than any scream.
—Leave him alone. He's never loved you. Nor will he.
The sentence hung between you, heavy, inevitable. You tried to deny it, to say something, to justify it, as always. But Castiel leaned toward you, not letting you escape, with an expression that wasn't anger, but rather pain that had been repeated over and over again.
—Don't you realize he's hurting you? He wiped a tear from your eye with his thumb, without gentleness, without false tenderness, only with the sincerity of someone who has seen each of your falls. Your breath broke a little, and he continued, without raising his voice. —He's an idiot. A traitor. Leave him alone, he'll never love you the way I do.