under the moonlight

THE BRIAR U HOCKEY HOUSE WAS BUSTLING WITH MUSIC AS USUAL. Hundreds of people were packed inside, dancing, drinking, celebrating the latest win. Every room was overcrowded with bodies and noise. The floor trembled beneath your feet from the bass, laughter echoed from somewhere upstairs, and every few minutes someone would erupt into drunken cheers that spread through the house like wildfire. It was chaos in the way only a hockey house could be.

And of course you couldn't skip it. Not when Dean Di Laurentis was going to be there.

Maybe that was the real reason you kept showing up to these parties. Certainly not for the beer, and definitely not for the endless stream of hockey stories you had already heard a hundred times before. No, you came because these parties gave you an excuse to be around him without raising suspicion. They gave you an excuse to sit in the same room, exchange secret looks, and pretend nothing was happening between you.

Which was funny considering there had been plenty happening between you for months now. Garrett would lose his mind if he ever found out. That thought almost made you smile.

The thing between you and Dean was going on for nearly a year now. Dean had somehow become your favourite secret. What had started as harmless teasing after practices and team dinners had gradually turned into something much more dangerous. Late-night texts became private conversations. Private conversations became stolen moments when nobody was paying attention. And stolen moments became sneaking away from parties together, lingering in empty hallways, wandering hands whenever Garrett wasn't near.

It wasn't exactly a relationship. At least neither of you had ever called it that. But it was impossible to pretend it meant nothing anymore.

Now you were sitting comfortably on one of the living room sofas surrounded by members of the Briar U hockey team. Logan was arguing animatedly with Tucker about some play move from tonight's game while your brother occupied a yellow plushy armchair nearby with Hannah curled up on his lap.

You watched them for a moment and immediately regretted it. They were being disgustingly sweet as always. The kind of sweet that made everyone around them want to throw something. Your attention drifted away before you could witness another round of heart eyes to something more interesting. Turned out the most interesting thing for you was Dean.

He sat across from you in another armchair, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just spent the last twenty minutes pretending you didn't exist. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankle, one arm draped casually over the backrest like he owned the place. That lazy look made you want to simultaneously slap him and climb into his lap. But the place was already occupied. 

Some girl was perched on the arm of his chair.

She was tall and beautiful in that effortless, glossy way that was reminding you of those models from expensive magazines. Dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, long legs crossed and uncrossed with practiced elegance. She leaned in close to whisper something into his ear, her painted red lips brushing the shell of it, and she laughed – a soft, melodic sound that was clearly meant to charm.

Dean barely reacted.

His head tilted slightly, acknowledging her presence the way one might acknowledge a fly buzzing around a window. His lips didn't curve. His eyes didn't soften. He gave her nothing because he was looking at you.

His gaze met yours across the crowded room with such familiarity that your stomach immediately tightened into a knot of heat and irritation. It was infuriating how quickly your body was reacting to him now. One look and suddenly you were back in the shadows of his bedroom, his hands on your waist, his mouth trailing down your throat. One look and your skin was remembering the deep blue silky bedsheets against your back, his breath hot in your ear, the way he'd murmured your name like it was the sin and the blessing at the same time.

Your body remembered everything. Every secret touch beneath tables where nobody could see. Every stolen moment in hallways while parties were going on on the other side of the door. Every whispered promise that ended with both of you grinning like idiots, breathless and giddy and drunk lying on his bed, tangled in the deep blue sheets.

The girl beside him said something else. Her hand landed on his shoulder, fingers trailing lightly up to his neck, a possessive little gesture that made your jaw tighten. Dean nodded absentmindedly but he still was watching you. Tentative, full of something you both couldn’t acknowledge right now.

Your eyes narrowed. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, that familiar burning fire inside that you felt when Dean was with someone that wasn’t you. Maybe it was jealousy, or maybe it was just pure, undiluted annoyance at his absolute nerve.

Dean caught you gazing at the girl and his mouth twitched.

“Asshole” you mouthed, pulling a red solo cup closer to your lips, taking a sip of your drink. 

The amused satisfaction on his face only grew, spreading across his features like he was savoring every second of your discomfort. His eyes dragged over you slowly, deliberately, a lazy inventory that made your breath catch despite yourself. He knew exactly what he was doing. He always did.

And then, almost like he wanted to see how far he could push you, he let his hand settle casually on the girl's thigh. Just rested it there. Palm flat. Fingers loose. A casual, intimate gesture that made the blood boil in your veins.

You scoffed loud enough for him to hear, and the sound turned a few heads nearby. You didn't care. Your blood was simmering now, a hot, prickling awareness that made your fingers curl into the armrests of your own chair.

The bastard actually looked pleased with himself. As usual. His eyes glittered with dark amusement, and that infuriating little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth like he'd just won a game you didn't even know you were playing.

The girl shifted, clearly misreading his hand as encouragement. She leaned in again, pressing closer, her fingers sliding up into his hair. Dean let her. He didn't move, didn't react. His hand stayed on her thigh, motionless, while his eyes held yours across the room with an intensity that made the air between you feel thick and charged.

You could feel that invisible thread that connected you across the room, taut and humming. His gaze dropped to your mouth, lingered and then rose back to your eyes. And in that single, silent exchange, you understood exactly what he was doing.

He wasn't interested in her. He'd never been interested in her or any other girl lately. He was using them to see if you still wanted him, to see if you'd break first. To get a reaction and know if that fire in your eyes was just irritation, or something deeper, something that kept you up at night the same way he kept you up at night.

Your throat went dry.

His hand squeezed the girl's thigh once, lightly, a deliberate flex of his fingers that was meant for you. And your own thighs pressed together in response. You hated how your body always answered him before your brain could catch up. And you hated even more the desire to walk over there, pull his hand off her, and place it on your tigh instead.

You didn't. You stayed rooted in your chair, jaw tight, pulse pounding. But your eyes never left his. And his never left yours. 

"God, why do you look so miserable?" an irritating ramble was heard before the sofa dipped sharply and Allie collapsed beside you with absolutely no regard for personal space. 

Allie threw one arm around your shoulders and draped herself across the cushions. Her cheeks were flushed pink from alcohol, her lipstick smudged at the edges, and several strands of hair had escaped her perfectly arranged bun, curling loose around her face like she'd just rolled out of somewhere far more interesting than a hockey party.

You laughed despite yourself and let your head fall onto her shoulder, the warmth of her presence a welcome anchor in the noise.

"I don't look miserable"

"Sweetie," she tilted her head, examining your face with theatrical intensity. "I've known you for years. You absolutely look miserable. You've got that little crease between your eyebrows, the one that appears when you're either deeply annoyed or deeply horny. And since Garrett's not currently lecturing you about anything, I'm going to go with the second option"

You shoved her. She laughed.

"Briar just won," she continued, counting on her fingers with exaggerated precision. "There's free alcohol, free food, and Garrett is too busy making out with Hannah to bother you. By all logic, this should be your ideal night."

"Those are incredibly low standards,” you belly laughed, throwing your head back on the sofa. The ceiling was getting a little blurry. 

"They're realistic standards. There's a difference," Allie rolled her eyes and pursed her lips, but there was a slight smile playing on her lips. You like this girl so much.

You chuckle and took another sip of your drink as the noise swelled around you. Someone was shouting in the kitchen. A group of freshmen near the keg had started chanting someone’s name loudly. The music pounded through the floorboards, bass vibrating up through your feet and settling somewhere deep in your chest. The whole house was caught in that giddy moment between victory and disaster.

Allie watched the chaos fondly. You watched Dean fondly. And unfortunately, Allie caught that immediately.

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, bumping your shoulder with hers.

You groaned before she could even finish the thought. "What?"

"There it is"

"There what is?"

"That look," she wiggled her fingers toward your face like she was casting a spell.

You straightened, schooling your features into careful neutrality. "What look?"

"The Dean look," she whispered his name like it was a dirty secret. Which, you supposed, it was. "I've had to watch this nonsense for almost a year, and I know that look intimately."

"There is no Dean look," you protested, trying to avert your gaze to something else but it still returned to Dean. 

"Oh, please," she snorted. "I've watched you two orbit each other for months. There's absolutely a Dean look."

Heat flooded your cheeks, creeping up your neck. Across the room, Dean was pretending to listen to whatever Logan was saying. But the idiot had glanced in your direction at least seven times in the last five minutes. Not that you were counting. You absolutely weren't.

"Stop smiling," Allie ordered.

"I'm not smiling," you muttered hiding behind your cup.

"You are. It's that little one. The one that makes you look like you're remembering something very specific."

Your face burned hotter, "I hate you."

"No, you hate him," she nodded toward Dean. "Or at least, that's what you keep telling me. Usually while making that exact same face."

You covered your eyes with one hand, groaning into your palm.

Allie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink on your dress, her shoulders shaking against yours. The unfortunate thing about confessing your secret during a wine night was that she never, ever let you forget it. From the moment you'd whispered Dean's name across her kitchen table, she'd made it her personal mission to torment you at every possible opportunity. Allie'd kept your secret faithfully, but she'd also weaponized it with surgical precision.

"You know," she continued, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur that was somehow still loud enough to be heard over the bass, "if I didn't know you two were hooking up, I'd still think something was going on"

Your eyes widened, "Allie!"

"What?" she looked at you and raised her eyebrows. 

"Volume," you hushed, looking up, checking that no one was paying attention to you two.

"Oh please," she waved a dismissive hand. "Nobody can hear me over this shit of music. I could scream 'Dean Di Laurentis is fucking my best friend every night' at the top of my lungs and nobody would notice."

"Allie"

"Okay, okay," she held up her hands in mock surrender, but her grin didn't fade. "I'm just saying. The man looks at you like you're the last woman on Earth. And the way he was watching you walk across the room earlier? I felt like I needed a cold shower"

You shoved her again, but you couldn't quite suppress the laugh that escaped you.

"Seriously," Allie pressed, leaning in closer until her breath was warm against your ear. "Does he do that thing everyone's been talking about? The thing with his tongue?"

Your face went nuclear, heat flooding up from your chest to the tips of your ears. "I'm not answering that"

"That's a yes," Allie giggled, biting her lip like she'd just won the lottery.

"That's a no comment," you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

"That's absolutely a yes," she looked positively delighted, her eyes dancing with unholy glee. "Okay, next question. Has he ever…"

"Allie!" The warning in your voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

She laughed, raising both hands in surrender, but the mischief in her eyes remained undimmed. "Fine, fine. Keep your secrets," she leaned back, taking a slow, theatrical sip of her drink. "For now"

You risked another glance toward Dean. Bad idea. Because he was already looking.

The second your eyes met, the corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar, lazy smirk. The one that said he knew exactly what he did to you. It made your stomach flip and your thighs press together and your brain short-circuit all at once.

Asshole.

Your body immediately betrayed you. Heat pooled low in your belly, a familiar ache that had become embarrassingly predictable whenever he looked at you like he was already counting down the minutes until he could get you alone.

Allie noticed. Of course she did, "Oh, that's pathetic."

"Shut up"

"You're pathetic"

"I'm not," you mumbled under your nose.

"Oh, you so are. And mentally, you're already making out with him in a closet somewhere," she tilted her head, studying you with mock concern. "Or more than making out, based on that little shiver you just did"

You shoved her shoulder hard enough to make her wobble. She giggled, spilling her drink on the yellow couch. There will probably be a stain in the morning.

For a few moments, you let yourself relax on the couch. The alcohol hummed pleasantly beneath your skin, warm and loose. The music blurred into a pleasant thrum. Garrett was laughing at something Hannah said, his usual intensity softened by something that looked suspiciously like affection. Logan and Tucker were bickering about something pointless and completely stupid. Dean was still across the room, still looking entirely too pleased with himself, still watching you with that dark, knowing gaze that made your pulse stutter.

Then Allie sat bolt upright, her eyes lighting up with the kind of enthusiasm that had never, in the history of human civilization, led to anything good.

You narrowed your eyes immediately, "No"

"I haven't even said anything yet,” she pouted, looking offended.

"You have that look,” you pointed out, turning your head on the couch to look at her.

"What look?" her voice was innocent and full of mischief. Oh, that wasn't good.

"The one that always gets me into trouble"

Allie gasped in mock offense. "I am offended by that accusation"

"Good. Be offended. Keep being offended. Don't say whatever you're about to say."

"Drink or Dare!" she announced, practically bouncing as she said the words to the entire room.

A collective groan echoed around the group. Logan dropped his head back against the couch like a man who'd just received a death sentence. Tucker muttered something obscene and looked ready to flee the country. Even Garrett paused mid-laugh, shooting Allie a warning look that she completely ignored.

"Come on," she whined, drawing the word out. "We're celebrating. Briar won," she shot you a pointed look, "We should be having fun"

"We're sitting," Tucker said flatly, not bothering to hide his lack of enthusiasm.

"Exactly. It's depressing. I'm depressed. You're all depressing me!"

Before anyone could stop her, she snatched your cup from your hand and disappeared toward the drinks table, weaving through the crowd with the single-minded determination of a woman on a mission.

You watched her go, dread and affection curling in your chest. "That's never a good sign"

"Never," Tucker agreed solemnly.

A minute later, Allie returned carrying a suspicious, shimmering mixture that seemed to contain at least three different types of alcohol and a bottle of liquor in her other hand.

She placed the cup proudly into your hand and put the bottle on the table, "Suit yourself"

You stared at it. Then at her. Then back at the drink, "You want me dead"

"I want you entertaining," she leaned in, voice dropping to a playful whisper. "And maybe a little looser. You get very honest when you're drunk. I want to hear more about what Dean does with his tongue"

Heat flooded your cheeks again, "You're the worst friend in the world."

"I'm the best friend in the world. I kept your secret, I never told Garrett, and I've been emotionally supporting your situationship for months. The least you can do is get drunk and give me details"

A reluctant laugh escaped you, warm and helpless. That was the problem with Allie. She was absolutely impossible to refuse when she looked this delighted with herself, her eyes bright and her grin so wide it crinkled at the corners. She'd kept your secret faithfully, never once judging, never once slipping. She just... tormented you. Mercilessly. Beautifully.

With an exaggerated sigh, you accepted the cup and dipped your head in surrender, "Fine"

Allie's grin immediately turned victorious, sharp and wicked.

Across the room, Dean leaned forward in his chair, his lazy indifference replaced by sharp, focused interest. His eyes found yours across the crowd, dark and knowing, and the corner of his mouth curved into something that looked almost like anticipation.

The game started innocently enough.

At first, it was just an excuse for everyone to keep drinking. Allie had to chug half her cup because she refused to reveal her celebrity crush, emerging red-faced and sputtering while Tucker howled with laughter. Logan was dared to call one of the assistant coaches and profess his undying love, which ended with the entire room wheezing as Logan tried to explain, through tears of humiliation, that yes, he was drunk, and no, he wasn't dying, he just had feelings.

Even Garrett got dragged into the chaos at some point, forced to let Hannah answer a question on his behalf. She revealed a secret about his obsession with organizing his sock drawer by color and it has sent the hockey players into a spiral of mockery. Garrett's ears went red. Hannah looked utterly delighted. The rest of the room collectively lost their minds.

The atmosphere grew louder with every round, the initial awkwardness dissolving into something looser and more reckless. People shifted closer together on the couches, bodies pressing into one another as space grew smaller. Drinks were constantly refilled, the clink of bottles and the slosh of liquor becoming a familiar rhythm. 

You found yourself laughing more than usual. Mostly because Dean wouldn't stop staring at you.

Every time you looked up, his gaze was already there – waiting, patient, dark with something that made your stomach flip. The worst part was that he wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. A few months ago, the two of you would have been careful, stolen glances disguised as coincidence, eyes darting away before anyone could notice. Now it almost felt like a game. A dangerous one, considering Garrett was sitting less than ten feet away, oblivious and laughing at something Tucker said.

Dean caught you looking again. The corner of his mouth lifted into that familiar, infuriating smirk. You immediately flipped him off.

His grin widened, slow and pleased, like you'd just given him exactly what he wanted. His eyes dropped to your lips. Lingered. Rose back to meet yours with deliberate slowness.

"Okay!" Allie clapped her hands loudly enough to silence several conversations at once, her grin sharp and wicked. "Your turn"

Your head snapped around. "Mine?"

"Yes, yours," she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, her eyes glittering with barely contained mischief. A chorus of agreement rose from around the room, scattered voices urging you on, Logan banging his fist against the coffee table in encouragement.

You groaned dramatically and sank deeper into the couch, the cushions swallowing you whole, "Fine"

"Dare or drink?" she singsonged, tilting her head and fixing you with a pointed look.

You glanced at the suspicious mixture sitting in your cup, that vaguely radioactive cocktail Allie had so lovingly prepared. Whatever was in there, it was going to taste terrible and hit hard.

You looked at Allie. At her knowing grin. At the way her eyes flicked briefly toward Dean before returning to you.

Your pulse quickened.

"Okay, dare," you said, sinking deeper into the couch cushions and stretching your legs out before you. 

The alcohol had settled beneath your skin like honey, warm and slow, leaving you pleasantly loosened at the edges. For a blissful, ignorant moment, you forgot that agreeing to a dare at a Briar hockey party was historically a catastrophic decision. Your gaze drifted across the room and landed on Dean almost automatically, drawn by some gravitational pull you'd long since stopped fighting.

He was already looking at you. Of course he was.

"Read your last text message. Out loud." Logan's voice pulled you back to reality like a bucket of cold water.

The smug grin on his face immediately made your instincts flare. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looking far too pleased with himself, like he already knew exactly what was waiting on your screen and was simply savoring the moment of revelation.

You narrowed your eyes at him, "You look way too happy about that dare"

"Just read the message"

A chorus of agreement rose around the room. Groaning dramatically, you unlocked your phone and thumbed open your messages. At first, you weren't worried. Your group chats were full of nonsense. Hannah sent you TikToks every day without fail. Allie texted you so often that half your conversations consisted entirely of voice notes and chaotic emoji strings.

Then your eyes landed on the latest message.

And your heart stopped.

For one horrifying second, you simply stared at the screen, convinced the alcohol was making you hallucinate. Maybe if you blinked hard enough, the words would rearrange themselves into something innocent. Something that wouldn't destroy your entire evening. Something that didn't make your stomach drop straight through the floor.

Nope. It was still there.

Because of the booze and the chaos of the party, you had completely forgotten who your latest conversation had been with.

Di Laurentis. Fucking Dean Di Laurentis.

And it wasn't innocent. Not even close. The message glowed up at you like a confession, the kind of words that could only be interpreted one way. Your thumb hovered over the screen as if you could somehow erase it through sheer force of will.

Slowly, very slowly, you lifted your eyes from the screen and scanned the room. Everyone was waiting. Logan was grinning like the cat who'd caught the canary. Allie was bouncing impatiently in her seat, practically vibrating with anticipation. Tucker looked deeply entertained. Dean looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

The bastard.

You cleared your throat and glanced back down at the phone, praying the words had somehow changed while you weren't looking. They hadn't. You were absolutely, completely screwed.

"If G leaves you alone for five minutes, meet me in the kitchen ;)"

The words hung in the air for barely a second before the entire room fell silent.

It was the kind of silence that only happened when something had gone very, very wrong. You could hear your own heartbeat thudding in your ears. You slowly turned your head toward your brother.

A minute ago, Garrett had been completely uninterested in the game. He'd been too busy with Hannah curled up in his lap, his lips pressed to her cheek, whispering things that made her laugh. Now he was staring directly at you.

No. Not at you. Through you. Into your soul. His jaw was tight, his eyes flat and unreadable in that terrifying way that meant he was already cycling through various methods of murder and trying to decide which one was most appropriate for the occasion.

The thing about Garrett was that he had always been ridiculously overprotective. Growing up with him meant growing up with an unwanted bodyguard, a shadow that materialized whenever a boy so much as looked in your direction. If Garrett was around, potential suitors simply ceased to exist. During his first year at Briar, when you were still finishing high school, he somehow managed to intimidate every guy who had ever shown interest in you despite living hours away. To this day, you had no idea how he did it. His methods remained a mystery, but his results were undeniable. Your dating life had been a complete disaster because of him.

Things only got worse when you arrived at Briar.

You still remembered the first night he introduced you to the hockey team. Everyone had been friendly, warm, welcoming. Until Garrett casually placed a hand on your shoulder and announced in the coldest, most unyielding voice imaginable, "She's my sister. She's off limits."

The entire team had immediately nodded their agreement like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Well. Almost the entire team.

Your gaze flickered toward Dean for the briefest moment. Just a fraction of a second. Barely long enough to register.

His mouth twitched.

You hated him.

"WHAT?" Garrett practically roared, returning your gaze back to him.

Hannah nearly slid off his lap when he shot upright, his body going rigid in an instant. His arm immediately wrapped around her waist and pulled her back against him, but his eyes never left your face – dark, furious, the kind of look that had made grown men back away slowly. One hand gestured sharply through the air as though he couldn't decide whether to point at you or simply strangle whoever was responsible.

"Repeat it," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

You nearly choked on your drink. Every muscle in your body tensed at once, a reflexive flinch that you barely managed to suppress. Under normal circumstances, you probably would have folded immediately. You would apologise, make excuses, deflect until he forgot. But the alcohol buzzing through your veins had loosened something in your chest, giving you a reckless, dangerous amount of confidence.

"It's just a text, G," you said, trying for casualness and failing miserably. "Don't overreact"

The room erupted.

Logan laughed so hard he nearly rolled off the couch, his face going red as he wheezed into his cup. Tucker buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. Even Hannah pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile she couldn't quite suppress. Across from you, Dean suddenly became fascinated by the beer bottle in his hand, turning it over like it held the secrets of the universe. The devilish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth completely ruined the act.

"Who sent that?" Garrett asked.

His voice was quieter now. Which was somehow much worse. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as he leveled that cold, sharp gaze at you. It was the voice he used before a game, before a fight, before he did something that would end up on someone else's permanent record.

"No one," you said with a shrug, taking another sip of your drink.

You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Or maybe you wanted to kill Dean Di Laurentis. Honestly, either option sounded appealing at this point. Your fingers tightened around your cup as you prayed for a distraction. Something like a fire alarm, a power outage, a sudden natural disaster that would rescue you from this nightmare would perfectly suit you.

"Someone sent it," Garrett pressed, his jaw tight.

"No one important"

"Someone" he stepped forward, and you felt the weight of his suspicion pressing down on you like a physical thing.

You pressed your lips together and said nothing.

Garrett stared. You stared back. The room watched the silent battle unfold with open amusement, nobody daring to break the tension. You could feel your resolve crumbling, could feel the confession building in your throat like a physical weight. You were already seconds away from breaking when Hannah finally decided to intervene.

With the patience of a woman who had clearly dealt with this nonsense before, she slipped out of Garrett's lap and took his hand firmly in hers. "Come on," she said, her voice soft.

"I'm not done," Garrett's eyes didn't leave your face.

"Yes, you are," she tugged his arm gently.

"Hannah…"

"Garrett"

Something in her tone made him stop. The sharp edge of his anger seemed to falter, replaced by something softer that he tried very hard to hide.

The entire room watched in fascination as the captain of the hockey team allowed himself to be dragged away like a misbehaving child. He followed her reluctantly, his feet dragging, but not before sending one last warning look in your direction.

The message was clear. This conversation was far from over.

A few seconds later, they disappeared into the kitchen. The door swung shut behind them, and the room exhaled collectively.

The silence lasted exactly three seconds. Then every single pair of eyes in the room turned toward you. And somehow, that felt even worse than your brother's fury.

“Gosh, you're all so noisy,” you complained, pushing yourself off the couch before the inevitable avalanche of questions could come crashing down on your head. There was no chance you were surviving another minute in that circle. Not with Logan looking so pleased with himself, Allie practically vibrating with energy, and half the hockey team staring at you like they had just uncovered the greatest mystery in Briar history.

You grabbed the last sip of your drink and finished it in one swallow. Everyone was smiling. Every single one of them.

“For God's sake,” you muttered, shaking your head. “A girl can't even have fun anymore”

The laughter that followed only made you roll your eyes harder. Honestly, you hated Dean. You hated him so much.

With as much dignity as someone fleeing a crime scene could manage, you slipped away from the lounge area and disappeared into the crowd. The music grew louder as you moved through the packed house. Bodies brushed against your shoulders, conversations blended together, and somewhere in the kitchen someone nearly dropped an entire tray of drinks.

Your heart was still beating too fast. Partly because of Garrett. Partly because of the entire room hearing that text. Mostly because of the infuriating smirk Dean had been wearing the whole time. The image refused to leave your head.

He hadn't looked nervous. He hadn't looked guilty. If anything, the idiot had looked entertained. And the worst part was that it had affected you far more than it should have. A year later and Dean Di Laurentis still had the ability to completely derail your thoughts. Sometimes you wondered if it had all been doomed from the start.

Maybe from that very first party during your freshman year, when you had shown up determined to prove to Garrett that you could survive college without his supervision. You had drunk too much, laughed too loudly, and somehow ended up alone in a hallway with Dean. One minute he had been making fun of you for trying to outdrink hockey players. The next he had been standing too close, looking at you in a way no one ever had before.

Everything after that had happened so quickly. And yet not quickly enough.

One stolen kiss had turned into another. Then into secret meetings. Late-night texts. Hidden smiles across crowded rooms. Months of pretending nothing was happening whenever Garrett was around. The memory alone was enough to make your stomach twist.

You escaped through the front door before you could think about it too much. Cold November air immediately wrapped around you. The contrast almost made you gasp. After the heat and noise inside the house, the porch felt strangely peaceful. The music became muffled behind the walls, reduced to a distant thump beneath the sound of the wind. For once there was nobody outside. No smokers. No drunk freshmen. No couples looking for privacy. Just you and the freezing wind that seemed determined to go straight through your clothes. 

You rubbed your arms and exhaled slowly. A small cloud formed in front of your face before disappearing into the darkness. 

A second later something heavy landed across your shoulders. Warm. Familiar. Your eyes dropped to the jacket immediately. 

The scent reached you before anything else. Salty cologne that always reminds you of the sea , clean laundry, and something that always seemed uniquely Dean. You smiled despite yourself and you didn't need to turn around to know the person standing behind you.

Dean had a way of making his presence known before he even spoke. Maybe it was confidence. Maybe it was habit. Maybe after a year of sneaking around together your body simply recognized him before your brain did. Whatever it was, you always knew when he was near. It was irritating. And comforting. Which pretty much summed up your entire relationship with Dean Di Laurentis.

“I think I said meet me in the kitchen,” his voice came from directly behind you, low and rough from laughing and drinking all night. The warmth of his breath brushed your ear and a shiver ran down your spine.

“I think,” you replied, unable to stop the smile pulling at your lips, “you were too busy entertaining your latest addition”

Dean laughed softly. The sound was warm and familiar.

A moment later he stepped closer and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him with an ease that spoke of long practice. The movement felt natural now. Familiar enough that you leaned into him without thinking.

“Jealous much?” he asked. The smugness in his voice was unbearable.

You rolled your eyes and finally turned in his arms.

“Oh, absolutely,” you deadpanned, circling your arms around his neck. “I've never been more threatened in my entire life”

“Good”

The yellow glow of the porch light softened his features, casting warm shadows across his face. His blonde hair was more disheveled than usual, probably because of that girl running her finger through them all night. His eyes never left yours, moving slowly over your face as though checking that you were really there.

“I hate you. God, I hate you so much, Di Laurentis,” you groaned, pushing at his chest. 

The gesture carried far more frustration than actual force and Dean knew it. Judging by the way his grin only widened, he was enjoying every second of your suffering. The humiliating text, Garrett's near heart attack, the entire hockey team staring at you like you had just revealed state secrets – somehow all of it had become entertainment for him.

“You keep saying that,” he observed lazily, catching your wrist when you tried to shove him again. His fingers wrapped around it for only a second before loosening, but the touch lingered anyway, warm even in the freezing November air. “And yet I can't help noticing that your actions never really match your words”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, “Please don't start acting like you're some kind of relationship expert. You sent me a text that nearly got us both killed”

“Nearly,” Dean repeated, emphasizing the word as though it somehow worked in his favor. He leaned back against the porch railing, looking entirely too relaxed for a man whose life had just flashed before his eyes courtesy of Garrett Graham. “See? That's the important part. If your brother was actually going to murder me, I'd already be dead.”

A disbelieving laugh escaped you. “The only reason you're still alive is because Hannah dragged him away before he could finish processing what he heard and understand that you were screwing his sister”

The memory alone was enough to make your stomach twist. Garrett's expression had gone from confused to suspicious to outright homicidal in less than ten seconds. You had spent your entire life dealing with his overprotective tendencies, but seeing that look while knowing that you were fucking his best friend was really terrifying. 

Dean must have noticed the change in your expression because some of the amusement faded from his face. Not completely, nothing ever removed that infuriating smugness from Dean Di Laurentis, but enough that his gaze softened as it moved over your features.

“You're overthinking again”

“No, I'm being realistic”

“You're definitely overthinking”

“Dean, my brother practically declared war in there”

“Your brother declares war every time a man breathes in your direction”

“That's not the point”

“It kind of is”

You opened your mouth, fully prepared to argue, but the words disappeared the moment he stepped closer. The distance between you had never been particularly safe. It didn't matter how many months had passed or how accustomed you had become to his touch, there was still something unfair about Dean when he looked at you like that. The porch light cast a warm glow over his face, highlighting the familiar curve of his mouth. For a ridiculous moment, all you could think about was how many times you had kissed that mouth and how little you regretted any of them. Which was incredibly inconvenient considering you were trying to be angry.

“See?” he said quietly, clearly reading your thoughts far more easily than he should have been able to. “That doesn't look like hate to me”

“Oh, shut up”

His laughter immediately filled the space between you, low and warm and entirely too familiar. It was the kind of sound that had become dangerous over the past year because your body reacted to it before your brain could catch up. You hated that. You hated how easily he could make you laugh when you wanted to stay angry. You hated how comfortable it felt standing here with him while the party continued inside without either of you. Most of all, you hated how natural this had become.

A year ago, Dean had just been your brother's best friend. Now his jacket was draped over your shoulders, his hands were resting on your waist, and your first instinct after embarrassing yourself in front of an entire room had been to kiss him senseless.

“That's exactly the problem,” you muttered under your breath.

Dean frowned slightly,“What is?”

You shook your head and let it fall against his shoulder with a dramatic groan. “The fact that I should hate you after tonight and somehow you're still making me smile”

For a second neither of you spoke. You could hear the muffled music coming from inside the house and feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your cheek. Then Dean's arm tightened around your waist, pulling you a little closer against him.

“Good,” he said simply.

You lifted your head enough to glare at him. “Good?”

“Yeah” The corner of his mouth curved upward as he looked down at you. “Because I'd be pretty offended if one stupid text was all it took to take you away from me”

“You're impossible,” you muttered instead, though there wasn't nearly as much conviction in your voice as there should have been.

Dean only hummed softly, as if he found your answer perfectly acceptable. As if being impossible was something he had accepted about himself a long time ago. The corner of his mouth twitched with amusement, but there was something else in his expression too, something quieter beneath the teasing confidence he wore so effortlessly. For a moment he simply looked at you, his gaze moving slowly over your face as though he was memorizing it. Then his hand lifted and his thumb brushed lightly along your jaw.

The touch was gentle. Dangerously gentle.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “But you love it”

Your breath caught somewhere in your throat. “Dean…”

You never got the chance to finish.

His lips met yours before the rest of the sentence could leave your mouth, stealing the argument before it had fully formed. The kiss wasn't rushed or demanding. It wasn't the desperate kind born from impatience. It felt almost unfairly confident, like he already knew exactly what effect he had on you. Like he knew every protest was doomed the moment he touched you.

The worst part was that he was right.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back, all the irritation and embarrassment from earlier slowly melting away beneath the warmth of his mouth. The memory of Garrett's interrogation, the laughter from the hockey team, the humiliation of reading that text aloud – none of it seemed nearly as important when Dean was standing this close.

When he finally pulled back, he barely moved away. His forehead remained close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin.

“Still hate me?” he asked quietly.

You narrowed your eyes in an attempt to glare at him, but the effort fell apart almost immediately.

“A little less,” you admitted. A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself as you rose slightly onto your toes and brushed your nose against his. “You can try again, though. Maybe you'll have better luck this time”

The laugh that escaped him was warm and satisfied.

"Careful," he warned, voice low and rough against your ear. "You're giving me encouragement"

"Maybe you need it"

"Sweetheart," he murmured, and the word curled like smoke between you, "I definitely don't"

You barely had time to scoff before his mouth was on yours again and this time, there was nothing careful about it.

Dean laughed into the kiss, low and breathless, and pressed harder, as if he wanted to fold you into him entirely. You breathed into his mouth, a soft, yielding sound, and when your lips parted just slightly, he took the invitation without hesitation. His tongue swept in, slow at first, then deeper, more certain, and your hands found their way beneath his shirt without thought. Your nails dragged across the hard planes of his stomach, over the ridges of muscle, and he smiled against your lips.

His palm slid down your spine, over the curve of your waist, and settled firmly on the plush of your ass, squeezing with a possessiveness that sent a shiver straight through you. You moaned into his mouth, breath catching, and your fingers curled against his skin.

"Up," Dean muttered, and before you could register the shift, he had turned, lifted you with an ease that made your head spin, and set you down on the railing.

The wood was cool beneath your thighs. You squeaked in surprise, but the sound dissolved into something needier as you hooked your legs around his hips and pulled him closer until there was no space left between you.

His lips found your neck, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. His teeth caught the thin strap of your dress, tugging it down your shoulder with agonizing slowness. You laughed feeling ticklish under his touch but it died the instant his mouth found the tender spot just behind your ear. 

You moaned, your head falling back, giving him better access to you neck, your breath coming faster now. The tension inside you coiled tighter with every brush of his lips, every graze of his teeth, every shift of his body against yours. It was building, relentless, a pressure that bordered on unbearable.

Dean shifted between your thighs, rolling his hips against yours in a slow, deliberate motion, and you felt him hard and wanting, straining against the denim of his jeans. The heat of him seeped through the thin fabric of your dress, and your mind went hazy, thoughts scattering like smoke.

"I think…" you breathed, the words tumbling out between shaky inhales. "Fuck… Dean… I think we need to find a better place"

But he hadn't stopped. His lips were already tracing their way back up your jaw, brushing against the corner of your mouth, teasing. His hips kept rolling against your heat, making you feel dizzy but this time not from the alcohol but from Dean himself.

"One more minute, baby," he mumbled against your skin, and then he kissed you again, deep and consuming, and your brain went completely dark.

His lips were like a drug, something you couldn't leave and get enough of at the same time. Your hips bucked instinctively toward him, and he pressed forward in response, a low sound rumbling in his chest. You felt the damp heat of your own want soaking through, a mess you'd be embarrassed about later, but right now… right now, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

The only thing that existed was him. The weight of his hands. The warmth of his mouth. The way he said your name without saying it at all.

And you wanted him. That was all that mattered right now. 

Dean's hand slid up your body, palm flattening against your chest, squeezing through the thin fabric of your dress. His fingers found your nipple through the layers, rolling it between thumb and forefinger until you gasped into his mouth. He smiled against your lips. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, pulling him closer. His free hand gripped your thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and he hitched your leg higher around his hip. The movement opened you up, pressing your core against the ridge of his jeans, and you both groaned at the contact.

"Fuck," Dean breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and glistening. "You feel that? Feel what you do to me?"

You nodded, breathless, because you could. You could feel every inch of him straining against the denim, hard and wanting and so deliciously close.

His hips rolled against yours, slow and deliberate, and your head fell back with a moan. The railing dug into your thighs, the cool wood a sharp contrast to the heat of his body pressed against you. Dean took advantage of your exposed throat, latching onto the pulse point that fluttered wildly beneath your skin. His teeth grazed the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you whimpered, nails raking down his back.

"Dean," you gasped, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

"Say it again," he growled against your neck, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers found the damp heat between your thighs, tracing you through the soaked fabric of your panties. "Say my name like that again"

"Dean," your hips rocked into his hand, desperate for more friction. "Please."

"Please what?" his voice was a dark murmur, his fingers pressing harder, circling your clit through the thin fabric. "Tell me what you want, sweetheart"

"You," your voice a broken whisper. "I want you, I want…"

His mouth cut you off with another kiss, swallowing your words as his fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric. He found you slick and ready, and the sound he made was almost reverent.

"So wet for me," he breathed against your lips. "This all for me?"

"Who else would it be for, you idiot?" you broke the kiss and looked at him irritatingly.

He laughed again, but it was strained, barely there, because his fingers were sliding through your folds, circling your clit with devastating precision. Your hips bucked into his hand, chasing the sensation, and he obliged, pressing harder, faster, until you were a trembling mess in his arms.

"That's it," he murmured, his forehead pressed to yours. "That's it, let go for me. I've got you"

The heat in your belly was growing, unbearable and intoxicating, spreading through you like wildfire. Dean's mouth captured your moans, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that mirrored the movement of his hand. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your hips rocking desperately against his fingers as the pressure built and built and built and….

"What the fuck?!" Garrett's voice cut through the haze like a bucket of ice water, and you jerked back so fast you nearly lost your balance on the railing. 

Your heart slammed against your ribs as your eyes found him, standing in the threshold with Logan and Tucker. Garrett's face was a thundercloud, jaw tight, nostrils flared, the vein in his forehead doing that thing it only did when he was about three seconds from committing a felony.

Behind him, Logan had his hand clamped over his mouth, shoulders shaking, but he wasn’t impressed at all. Tucker wasn't even trying to hide it, he was laughing, full-bodied, tears-in-his-eyes laughing, the traitor.

“Fuck,” Dean’s hand quickly left your core, circling your body and pulling you closer. His head fell on your shoulder and you felt Dean's breath hot against your ear, low and steady despite the disaster behind his back. "On the count of three, we run"

You nodded, barely, your pulse hammering so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

One.

Dean's hands found your waist, lifting you down from the railing with a slowness that felt almost mocking given the circumstances. Your feet hit the floor. Garrett took a step forward, and you felt every muscle in your body tense. His face was stone. The kind of face that said I'm going to bury my best friend in the backyard and no one will ever find the body.

Logan wheezed behind him. Tucker whisper-shouted, "Oh my God, he's going to kill him"

Two.

Dean's fingers laced through yours, squeezing once – tight, reassuring, maybe a little apologetic. His palm was warm and solid, and you clung to it like a lifeline. Garrett was coming closer now, slow and deliberate, the way predators did before they pounced. His jaw worked like he was chewing glass.

"Dean," he said, and his voice was eerily calm. That was worse. That was so much worse. "I'm going to give you five seconds to explain why your hands were under my sister’s dress"

"Five seconds?" Dean called back, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "That's generous"

"Dean," you hissed.

Tucker lost it completely, doubling over and slapping the doorframe. Logan was crying now. Actual tears.

Three.

"Bye, G!" Dean shouted, and then he was running, dragging you with him, your feet barely finding purchase as you launched off the porch and into the night.

Garrett's roar echoed behind you. You didn't look back. The cold wind whipped your face, biting at your cheeks and tearing through your hair, but you couldn't stop laughing. Breathless, hysterical, giddy laughter that mixed with the pounding of your feet and the thunder of your heart. The party lights blurred behind you, growing smaller and smaller as you rounded the corner, the music fading into a distant thrum.

Dean didn't slow down. He pulled you into the shadows of someone's house, pressing you back against the rough brick wall, his body caging you in before you could even catch your breath. His mouth found yours and he kissed you like you hadn't just committed a crime against his friendship with your brother.

"Now he's actually going to kill you," you breathed against his lips, but your hands were already fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, because apparently you had zero survival instincts.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, and the sight of him almost undid you – hair wild, lips swollen, that stupid, goofy grin spreading across his face like he hadn't just made an enemy of his best friend for life. His nose brushed against your cheek, soft and tender in a way that felt almost ridiculous after the chaos.

"Worth it," he whispered, and his voice was so warm, so certain, that your chest ached with it.

Then he kissed you again, deeper this time, and you forgot entirely about Garrett, about the run, about the cold. Because God, it was worth it. Every single, reckless, disastrous second of it.

thankx for reading <3

I've been rereading and editing this work for two days now, so I really hope it's alright and doesn't contain too many spelling or grammar mistakes. also, I haven't actually read the book, so my perspective on every character is mostly based on the vibe I got from the tv show. and if anything feels off, that's probably why. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

alright, I'm off to sleep and take a little break. I'll be happy to wake up to any dean requests in my inbox! as usual, comments and messages are always welcome. your words keep me going, even when I really should be sleeping. so please, let me know what you think of this one. it means the world to me :3

– your santi 🪐