angel

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

F1 MASTERLIST

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

WWE MASTERLIST

One week later, Dean was losing his mind, he hadn't realised it at first. The first day had been understandable. The second had sucked. By the third he'd convinced himself he was being dramatic. Now it was day seven and he was standing in the middle of hockey practice wondering whether it would be considered socially acceptable to drive six hours just to see someone for five minutes.

The answer was probably no.

Unfortunately that hadn't stopped him thinking about it.

“Dean.” Nothing. “Dean.” Still nothing. “DEAN.” A hockey puck smacked him directly in the shoulder. Dean winced. “What the fuck?” Logan stared at him from the opposite side of the ice. “I've been calling your name for thirty seconds.”

Dean rubbed the sore spot. “Maybe don't throw things at me.” “Maybe join us in reality.” The rest of the team laughed. Dean rolled his eyes but practice resumed. At least it tried to. The problem was that every spare second his mind drifted back to you. The way you'd laughed, the way you'd stolen all of his blankets, the sleepy smile you'd given him that morning, the look on your face when he'd told you Hannah thought you were off limits. That one was the worst because every time he remembered it, he felt sick all over again. By the time practice finally ended, Dean was exhausted. Not physically. Mentally. Which somehow felt worse. He peeled off his equipment and headed towards the locker room showers. The second he stepped inside, Garrett looked up from tying his shoes. “Okay.” Dean immediately groaned. “What?” “Nope.” “What?” “You've been weird for a week.” “I haven't.” “You have.” Logan appeared beside Garrett. “He's absolutely right.” Dean grabbed his towel. “I'm literally standing here.” “Good.” Logan pointed at him. “Then you can explain why you've become the saddest man alive.” Dean stared. Garrett stared. Logan stared. Tucker wandered into the room, looked around then immediately pointed at Dean. “Oh good, we're finally doing this.” Dean nearly walked straight back out. “You guys need hobbies.” “We have hobbies.” “Yeah” Garrett agreed. “You.”

The locker room erupted into laughter. Dean hated all of them. Especially because they weren't entirely wrong. The worst part was that he'd become predictable. Every morning he checked his phone, nothing. Every afternoon he checked his phone, nothing. Every night he checked his phone, still nothing. Not that he'd reached out either. Because what exactly was he supposed to say? Hey. Sorry I accidentally detonated your life? Miss you? Want to come back?

None of those seemed particularly strong. “Have you even spoken to her?” The question came from Garrett. Dean froze, only for a second but it was enough. The entire room went silent. “Oh my God.” Logan looked delighted. “Oh my God.” “Don't.” “HE HASN'T.” Dean dropped his head into his hands. “Please shut up.” “You haven't spoken to her” Tucker looked genuinely horrified. “It's been a week.” “I know how long a week is.” “Apparently not.” The laughter that followed should have annoyed him. Instead it just made him tired. Because underneath all the teasing was an uncomfortable truth. He hadn't spoken to you. Not once. And somehow the silence felt enormous as if there was suddenly a missing piece in his day, a missing piece in his routine, a missing piece in his life. Which was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. He'd known you for less than twenty-four hours. People weren't supposed to matter this much after twenty-four hours. Yet somehow you did.

“You know what's really pathetic?” Dean immediately regretted asking. “What?” Logan said. Garrett grinned. “Oh no.” Dean should have stopped talking, he didn't. “I watched one of her matches yesterday.” The locker room exploded. “ONE?” “Yesterday?” “Oh buddy.” Dean groaned. “I hate all of you.” “One?” Logan repeated. “Try again.” Dean looked away and unfortunately that was answer enough. Tucker physically sat down. “No.” “Dean.” “No.” “How many?” Dean rubbed his face. “A few.” The room erupted again. “A FEW.” “Oh he's gone. He's completely gone." Dean hated how accurate that sounded. Because later tonight, after dinner, after classes, after everything else, he would probably do it again. Watch another match, listen to another interview. Hear your laugh through a screen instead of in person, pretend that was enough. Even though it wasn't, it would never be enough. And that was the moment Dean finally realised he was in serious trouble because he wasn't missing the girl he'd hooked up with. He was missing the girl who'd smoked victory cigarettes. The girl who tucked blankets around sleeping people. The girl who called Hannah her sister. The girl who had somehow managed to leave and take a piece of him with her. And after seven days, that piece showed absolutely no signs of coming back.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The first person Dean saw after leaving practice was Hannah. Which immediately felt like a bad omen. She was sitting cross-legged on the living room couch with her laptop balanced on her knees and a half-finished coffee beside her. The second he walked through the front door, her eyes narrowed. Dean stopped. “No.” Hannah blinked. “What?” “Whatever you're about to ask.” “I haven't asked anything.” “You have interrogation face.” “I do not have interrogation face.” “You absolutely have interrogation face.” Hannah's smile widened and Dean knew that smile, that smile was dangerous. Unfortunately, it was usually followed by disaster. “Sit.” “No.” “Dean.” “No.” “Di Laurentis.” The use of his full name was never a good sign. With a dramatic sigh, he dropped onto the opposite end of the couch. Immediately regretting every life decision that had brought him here. Hannah closed her laptop which somehow made things worse. “Oh, God.” “What?” “The laptop closed.” “You're being dramatic.” “I'm not.” “You are.” Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “Just ask whatever you're going to ask.” Hannah studied him. Long enough to make him uncomfortable, then she spoke “Why did Y/N leave?” Dean froze. Only briefly. But it was enough and the change in Hannah's expression was immediate, suspicion, pure suspicion. “Oh.” Dean looked away. “Oh, no.” “Hannah.” “Oh, no.” Dean groaned. “Hannah.” “What happened?” “Nothing happened.”

She stared and Dean stared back. The silence stretched. Then Hannah broke it “You're a terrible liar.” “I'm not lying.” “You absolutely are.”

Dean hated this conversation. Mostly because she was right. A week ago he would've laughed his way through it but now? Now just hearing your name felt like somebody poking a bruise. Hannah noticed immediately of course she did. Her expression softened slightly and the teasing disappearing.

“Dean.” The concern in her voice caught him off guard. “You okay?” The question should've been easy, Instead it felt impossible. Because the truthful answer was no. He wasn't okay, not really. He hadn't been okay since you'd driven away, every day since had felt slightly off. Like he'd forgotten something important. Like something was missing. And somehow that missing thing had your smile. Your laugh, your stupid victory cigarettes. Dean released a slow breath. “I'm fine.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “Okay.” “Okay.” “That's a lie.”

Dean laughed despite himself. A small one, tired, humourless. Hannah watched him carefully. Then leaned back against the couch.

“She won't answer me.” That got his attention. “What?” Hannah nodded. “I've called.” Dean frowned. “How many times?” “Enough.”

A knot formed in his stomach because that sounded exactly like something you would do. You weren't avoiding Hannah because you were angry. You were avoiding her because you felt guilty, which somehow made everything worse. “I've texted too.” Dean looked away. “Hannah” “She keeps saying she's busy.” The hurt in her voice was subtle, but there and immediately Dean felt worse because none of this was Hannah's fault. She'd done nothing wrong yet somehow she'd gotten caught in the middle anyway. “She's training.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Hannah's eyebrows shot up. “Oh?” Shit. Dean immediately knew he'd made a mistake. “Aha.” “Hannah.” “Aha.” Dean groaned. “You know she's training.” “No.” “You just guessed.” “I absolutely did not.” Hannah pointed triumphantly. “You know she's training.”

Dean dropped his head backwards against the couch. The ceiling suddenly seemed fascinating. “Dean.” Silence. “Dean.” More silence. “Dean.” “Please stop saying my name.” “No.” Dean closed his eyes and Hannah shifted slightly. When she spoke again her voice was gentler, careful. “What happened that night?”

For a moment neither of them moved. The house felt strangely quiet. The question lingering between them. Dean thought about dodging, making a joke, changing the subject. Instead he found himself thinking about you driving away, the tears in your eyes, the way you couldn't look at him and suddenly he was tired of pretending nothing had happened, so tired.

“We talked.” Hannah stayed silent. Waiting. “We hung out.” Still waiting. Dean sighed, a long one, the kind that came from somewhere deep.

“I slept with her.” The room became completely silent. Hannah blinked. Once. Twice. Then,

“You WHAT?” Dean immediately regretted everything.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The training facility smelled like sweat, disinfectant and old canvas. Normally it was one of your favourite places in the world, today you hated it. Mostly because you'd spent the last twenty minutes getting your ass kicked, again, and again, and again. “Jesus Christ.”

Maya released her grip and stepped backwards just as you hit the mat. Flat on your back. Staring up at the ceiling lights, breathing hard. “What?” Maya planted her hands on her hips. “What?” “Yeah.” “What?” She looked genuinely offended. “you missed that counter.” You shrugged. “So?” “You never miss that counter.” “Everybody misses counters." “Not you.”

Unfortunately, she wasn't wrong, a groan escaped you as you threw an arm across your eyes. The movement earned absolutely no sympathy. Maya crouched beside the ring, still staring, still judging, still annoying.

“Are you done?” “No.” “Then stop looking at me.” “I'm trying to figure out where you've gone.” You frowned. “What does that mean?” “It means your body is here.” Maya pointed directly at you. “Your brain is somewhere in another zip code.”

The words landed harder than you wanted them to because you knew, you knew you weren't focused, you knew you'd been making mistakes all morning, you knew you'd nearly botched three separate sequences already. The problem was that you couldn't seem to stop. Every spare thought drifted back to Dean. Dean laughing at you on Hannah's couch. Dean watching your match like you'd personally invented professional wrestling. Dean carrying you upstairs. Dean looking at you like you were the most fascinating person he'd ever met. Then Dean telling you that Hannah had said you were off limits. The memory twisted painfully in your stomach. “Yikes.” You looked up. Maya was watching you now. Concern replacing her usual teasing. “That bad?” “I'm fine.” “That wasn't my question.”

You pushed yourself upright, immediately regretting it because now Maya could see your face and Maya had always been annoyingly good at reading you. “You know” she said carefully, “you used to be a much better liar.” A humourless laugh escaped you. “Thanks.” “I'm serious.” Silence settled between you, the gym suddenly felt much larger, much emptier. The sounds from the other rings fading into the background. Maya climbed through the ropes and sat beside you. Neither of you spoke for a moment. Eventually she broke the silence. “Tell me.” You stared at the mat. “No.” “Tell me.” “No.” “Tell me.” “You sound like an eight-year-old.” “You sound like somebody avoiding the conversation.”

Damn it, you dropped your head into your hands. Maya immediately made a triumphant noise. “There it is.” “I hate you.” “No you don't.” “Unfortunately.” The response earned the smallest smile, only the smallest but Maya noticed, of course she did. “Okay.” Her voice softened. “What happened?”

You swallowed hard, then immediately wished you hadn't. Because somehow saying it out loud would make everything real again.

“We met.” Maya nodded. “I know.” “We hung out.” “I know.” “We...” The words caught in your throat, stupidly, embarrassingly. Maya's eyes widened. “Oh.” You groaned immediately. “Oh God.” “Oh.” “Maya.” “Oh my God.” “Maya.” “You slept with hockey boy.” You buried your face in your hands, immediately. “Please stop calling him hockey boy.” The gasp that followed was dramatic, loud, entirely unnecessary. “You know his nickname bothers me. Call him Dean” “You know his name.” You froze and maya froze, then very slowly smiled. “Oh.” “No.” “Oh, you're in trouble.” You wanted the ring to collapse and swallow you whole, immediately. “Maya.” “You know his name.” “So?” “You never know names.” The traitorous heat creeping across your face answered for you. Maya stared, then sat back, looking genuinely horrified. “No.” You closed your eyes. “No” “Please stop saying no.” “You're in love with him.” A laugh escaped you immediately, too quickly, too loudly, the kind of laugh that convinced absolutely nobody, including yourself. “I'm not.” Maya pointed aggressively. “That's exactly how people in love answer.” “I'm not in love.” “You've known him for like twelve minutes.” “Exactly.” “You're training like somebody died.”

Silence. The words hit harder than either of you expected because they were true, not literally but close enough. For the first time all week, your eyes started to sting. Immediately you looked away and Maya's expression changed concern replacing amusement. “Oh.” You swallowed again. “He wasn't supposed to matter.” The confession came quietly. barely audible. Maya didn't interrupt she didn't joke she didn't tease she just listened, which somehow made it worse.

"He wasn't." You stared at the ropes, the empty ring. Anything except your friend. “It was one night.” Another pause. “But I miss him.” The words finally escaped. Raw. Honest. Painful. Because that was the truth, wasn't it? Not the kiss, not the night itself, him. You missed him, the way he laughed, the way he listened, the way he looked at you like everything you said mattered. and for the first time since driving away from Briar, you finally admitted it. Not to Maya, not really. To yourself. Because the worst part wasn't losing the guy you'd kissed. The worst part was losing the guy you'd already started falling for and that hurt a hell of a lot more.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The phone rang for the third time that day while you were sitting alone in your apartment. You didn't answer it. You just stared at the screen. Watching Hannah's name flash across it.

Again. And again. And again. Eventually it stopped.

The apartment fell quiet, you released a breath you hadn't realised you'd been holding. Thirty seconds later a text appeared.

HANNAH Are you alive?

Your chest tightened immediately because that was the problem. Hannah wasn't angry, she wasn't yelling, she wasn't sending passive-aggressive messages. She was worried and somehow that made everything worse. You stared at the message. Thumb hovering over the keyboard for a moment you almost answered. Almost told her everything, almost explained, then another message appeared.

HANNAH You know I can literally see you posting on Instagram, right?

Despite yourself, a laugh escaped, small, broken, painfully familiar. That sounded exactly like her. You could practically hear her voice, see the expression she'd be making, the slight narrowing of her eyes, the dramatic sigh, the inevitable lecture. God. You missed her. The realization hurt more than expected because Hannah wasn't just your best friend. She was your sister. The first person who had ever chosen you. The first person who had made you feel wanted. Safe. Home. And now every time her name appeared on your phone, all you could think about was Dean, Dean's bedroom, Dean's hoodie, Dean's smile. Dean saying, She also told me you were off limits. You squeezed your eyes shut, immediately wishing you hadn't. The memory was still there. Just as sharp and just as painful. You should've known better. That was the worst part. You should've known. Hannah had trusted you, invited you into her life, into her family, introduced you to the people she loved most and somehow you'd turned around and-

Your phone buzzed again. Another text.

HANNAH Okay now you're definitely ignoring me.

Your throat tightened because she wasn't wrong. You were. Not because you didn't want to talk to her. Not because you were angry. But because you were terrified, terrified she'd be disappointed, terrified she'd feel betrayed, terrified that one stupid night had somehow damaged the most important relationship in your life.

Another message appeared. HANNAH Miss you, idiot.

That one nearly broke you, the tears arrived before you could stop them. Hot. Sudden. Embarrassing. You stared at the words for a long moment. Then finally typed back, your fingers trembling slightly.

YOU Sorry. Training's been crazy.

The reply came almost instantly.

HANNAH Liar.

A watery laugh escaped you. Of course she knew, of course she did, she always knew. Which was exactly why you couldn't answer the phone because if you heard her voice, you weren't sure you'd be able to keep pretending. And if you couldn't pretend, you might have to tell her what happened. You might have to hear the disappointment for real. The phone began ringing again, this time you didn't even look at it. You already knew who it was. Instead, you turned the screen face down on the couch and wiped quickly at your eyes.

Letting it ring. And ring. And ring. Until eventually the call ended. Leaving behind a silence that somehow felt even worse because deep down, beneath all the guilt and panic and heartbreak, there was one truth you couldn't escape. You didn't just miss Hannah. You missed him too and neither of them seemed to know how much.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

By Friday night, Dean had discovered something deeply unfortunate, missing you wasn't getting easier, if anything, it was getting worse. The realization hit him somewhere around eleven o'clock at a crowded hockey party when a gorgeous blonde sat herself directly beside him on the couch. A month ago Dean would've flirted automatically, two months ago he would've had her number before the end of the night, instead he barely noticed she'd sat down. His attention remained fixed on his phone, which was pathetic especially because there was nothing on it, no texts, no notifications, no messages from you nothing. “Hey.” Dean looked up, the blonde smiled. “Hey.” “You've been staring at that thing all night.” Dean glanced down at his phone. “Have I?” “Little bit.” a laugh escaped her.

Dean offered a polite smile, then looked back down. The conversation should have continued, normally it would've. Instead silence stretched between them, awkward, painful. Eventually. “Okay.”

Dean looked up again. the girl was staring at him. “What?” “Did I interrupt something?” “No.” “You sure?” Dean frowned. “Why?” “Because you look like somebody just informed you Christmas was cancelled.” The laugh that escaped him was reluctant, small. The first genuine one he'd managed all evening. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. A few moments later she patted his shoulder, actually patted his shoulder, like a grandmother. “Good luck with whatever's going on.” Then she got up and walked away. Dean watched her leave, confused.

A familiar voice appeared beside him. “Damn.” Dean immediately groaned. “No.” Logan dropped onto the couch, grinning like an idiot. “What the hell was that?” “Nothing.” “That girl practically handed herself to you.” Dean rolled his eyes, “Logan.” “No seriously.” Logan pointed dramatically towards the crowd. “She was gorgeous.” “I noticed.” “No you didn't.” Dean opened his mouth but then closed it again because honestly? He hadn't, not really. Logan stared, then slowly sat back. “Oh.” Dean knew that look. That look was dangerous. “What?” “You really are down bad.” Dean threw a couch cushion at him. Logan barely dodged it still laughing. “Shut up.” “I'm serious.” “Logan.” “You didn't even flirt.” “Maybe I wasn't interested.”

The statement was supposed to end the conversation. Unfortunately Garrett appeared at exactly the wrong moment. “Not interested in who?” Dean considered setting himself on fire. “Nobody.” “Uh-huh.” Garrett sat down, then looked around, then looked back at Dean, then slowly smiled. “Oh.” “No.” “Oh.” Dean hated when people did that. “What?” Garrett leaned back, looking far too pleased with himself. “You know, I've never seen you turn somebody down.” “It happens.” “No.” “It does.” “No.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, the couch suddenly felt very crowded. Across the room another girl caught his eye and smiled. Instinctively, automatically, the way people had for years. Dean smiled politely back, then looked away. The movement wasn't conscious, it just happened because she wasn't you the realization hit immediately, brutal, instant. She wasn't you, she didn't laugh like you, didn't smile like you, didn't talk with her hands when she got excited, didn't make fun of him every five minutes, didn't steal all the blankets, didn't smell like vanilla shampoo and bad decisions. She wasn't you and apparently that mattered. A lot.

“Dude.” Dean blinked. Garrett was staring at him, concern replacing amusement. “Dude.” “What?” “You're gone.” The words landed harder than they should have because for the first time all evening Dean didn't argue, didn't joke, didn't deny it. He just sat there staring into his drink thinking about a wrestler six hours away thinking about a girl who hadn't answered a single text from Hannah thinking about somebody he'd known for less than two days. And missing her anyway. Garrett and Logan exchanged a look one Dean unfortunately noticed.

“Oh, this is serious serious.”

Dean closed his eyes because for once, neither of them were wrong.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Dean should've gone to sleep it was nearly two in the morning. The house was quiet. The party had finally died down and most of the guys were asleep. Any normal person would've been asleep too instead, Dean was sitting cross legged in the middle of his bed with his laptop balanced on his knees. Watching wrestling. Again. At this point he wasn't even pretending there was another reason. The first few nights he'd convinced himself he was curious, interested, trying to understand your career better. That excuse had lasted approximately twenty-four hours. Now he knew the truth, he missed you, pathetically, embarrassingly, completely.

The latest match finished and Dean immediately clicked another. Then another. Then another. The worst part was that he was starting to understand it, not wrestling, you. The little things, the habits, the patterns, the version of you that existed when nobody was paying attention, the things casual viewers would never notice, the way you always adjusted your wrist tape before a big moment, the way you bit back a smile when the crowd started chanting your name, the way you checked on opponents after rough landings, even when cameras weren't focused on you, the way your entire face lit up when something went right.

Dean paused the video, immediately. Because there it was, that smile. The same one you'd given him while lying half asleep in his bed, the same one you'd worn while smoking that cigarette outside the house, the same one he'd spent the last week trying very hard not to think about. He failed, spectacularly. A sigh escaped him. Dean rubbed a hand across his face before reaching for his phone. The lock screen lit up, nothing, no messages, no notifications, othing from you. His chest tightened, again because apparently that was a thing now.

A week. It had only been a week. Which sounded ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. People weren't supposed to get attached this quickly. Dean knew that, logically, emotionally? Different story. His thumb hovered over Instagram, then before he could stop himself, your profile opened. “Jesus Christ.” The muttered words filled the empty room. Dean stared at the screen, at your latest post, a collection of photos from training. One picture showed you standing on the turnbuckle after a match, arms raised, grinning. Another showed you backstage with Maya both of you making stupid faces at the camera. The final photo was just you. Smiling, happy. Dean hated how much that photo affected him because for one stupid second he forgot. Forgot you weren't here, forgot you weren't speaking, forgot the way you'd looked standing in his doorway. Heartbroken. Then reality came crashing back and his stomach twisted, the same way it had every day since.

Without thinking, he opened the comments, immediately regretted it. Thousands of people, compliments, heart emojis, flirting, the usual internet nonsense. Dean frowned, then frowned harder, then caught himself.

“Oh my God.”

The realization hit instantly. He was jealous, of Instagram comments at two in the morning like a complete psychopath. Dean dropped backwards onto the mattress. Staring at the ceiling, mortified because Logan was right, Garrett was right, everybody was right, he was completely gone.

The terrifying part? He wasn't even sure when it had happened. One minute you'd been Hannah's friend, the next you'd been asleep on his chest. And now he couldn't stop looking for you everywhere, in conversations, in songs, in random thoughts throughout the day. Every stupid thing somehow circled back to you. A notification suddenly appeared. Dean sat up immediately, hope flaring, then dying. A group chat. Not you, ever you. The disappointment was so immediate it almost made him laugh. “Pathetic.” The word echoed through the empty room nobody argued because nobody was there. Dean looked down at his phone one final time at your smiling face on the screen, then carefully locked it setting it face down on the bedside table. The room fell quiet again, dark, still, sleep should've come easily. It didn't because the second Dean closed his eyes, he was back on that porch. Watching smoke curl into the night air listening to you talk about Hannah feeling your hand against his and for the first time all week, Dean finally admitted something he'd been avoiding, something he hadn't wanted to say out loud. Not even to himself. “Fuck.” The word escaped into the darkness, quiet, hopeless. Because he finally understood why everybody kept looking at him the way they did. Why Garrett kept smirking. Why Logan wouldn't leave him alone. Why even Tucker seemed concerned. It wasn't because he'd hooked up with a girl. It wasn't because he missed a girl. It was because somewhere between the wrestling match, the cigarette, the laughter and the morning sunlight Dean Di Laurentis had fallen in love. And the girl he loved was six hours away. Probably convinced she'd never hear from him again.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The confrontation happened on a Sunday afternoon, which Dean would've argued was deeply unfair. Sundays were supposed to be peaceful, relaxing. Not whatever this was.

“Sit down.” Dean stopped halfway through the kitchen. Immediately suspicious. Hannah was sitting at the dining room table, arms folded, coffee in front of her. The expression on her face told him everything he needed to know. This was an ambush. “Absolutely not.” “Dean.” “No.” “Dean.” “Hannah.” She pointed at the chair opposite her. “Sit.” Dean considered running, briefly. Then remembered she would simply hunt him down later with witnesses and somehow that felt worse. With a dramatic sigh, he dropped into the chair. “This better be good.” Hannah stared. Dean stared back. Neither spoke.

Eventually Hannah broke the silence “Why won't she answer me?” The question hit harder than expected Dean immediately looked away, a mistake, a terrible mistake because Hannah noticed of course she noticed. Her eyes narrowed. “There it is.” “There what is?” “The guilty face.” “I don't have a guilty face.” “You absolutely have a guilty face.” Dean groaned. “Can we not do this?” “No.” “Hannah.” “No.” Dean dropped his head backwards, staring at the ceiling. The ceiling offered no assistance whatsoever, typical. “You've been weird for two weeks.” Hannah's voice was calmer now, “She's been weird for two weeks.” Dean swallowed. “You won't tell me what's wrong.” Another pause. “Neither will she.” The guilt landed immediately because she sounded hurt, not angry, hurt. and Hannah didn't deserve that none of this was her fault, which made everything worse. “Dean.” Her voice softened, just slightly. “What happened?” For a moment he considered lying, making a joke, changing the subject. Then he thought about the way you'd looked standing in that doorway, the tears in your eyes, the panic, the heartbreak. and suddenly he was tired so unbelievably tired. “You know we kissed.” “Just kissed?”

Dean stared. “Hannah.” “What?” “Hannah.” “What?” Dean pointed aggressively. “You are literally the last person who gets to judge me.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth only briefly because it disappeared again almost immediately replaced by concern. “Dean.” The seriousness in her voice made him look up. “What happened?” And suddenly there it was, the question he'd been avoiding, the answer he'd spent two weeks trying not to think about. Dean looked down at the table, at his hands. Anywhere except Hannah.

Then quietly he answered “Everything.” The room fell silent. “Oh.” The single word carried a lot. Dean laughed once, humourlessly. “Yeah.” “Oh.” Neither spoke for a moment, then Hannah sat back in her chair, processing, thinking. Dean already knew what she was thinking, you were family, you were her sister, the person she protected before anyone else and now Dean had crossed a line, the same line she'd specifically told him not to cross. He braced himself, ready for the lecture, ready for the disappointment. “What happened after?” Dean frowned. “What?” “What happened after?” The question caught him off guard because somehow that wasn't the reaction he'd expected. “We woke up.” He laughed quietly, the memory immediately finding him, you stealing all his blankets, the sleepy smile, the sunlight. For a second his chest actually hurt. “We were fine.”

Hannah watched him carefully. Too carefully. “Then what?” Dean's jaw tightened. The next part was harder so much harder because this was where everything went wrong. “I mentioned you.” The realization crossed Hannah's face instantly. Fast. Sharp. “Oh no.” Dean nodded. “Oh yes.” “What did you say?” The knot in his stomach returned, immediately. “I told her you'd said she was off limits.” Silence. Complete silence. For one second. Two. Three.

Then Hannah physically covered her face with both hands. “Oh my God.” Dean frowned. “What?” “Oh my God.” “Hannah.” She looked genuinely horrified, which was not helping. “What?” “Dean.” “What?” “You told her?” “Yes?” “Oh my God.” Dean stared, completely lost now because that reaction didn't make any sense. At all. “Hannah.” “What?” “Why do you look like that?” She dropped her hands, then looked at him, actually looked at him and for the first time since sitting down, she seemed to understand something, something important, something he'd been trying very hard not to say out loud. “Dean.” His stomach dropped immediately because suddenly her voice was different, softer gentler. “Why do you look so miserable?” The question caught him completely off guard, for a second he couldn't answer, didn't know how because there were a hundred possible responses, all of them embarrassing, all of them true. So instead he laughed. A broken little sound and looked away. Unfortunately, that was answer enough. Hannah's eyes widened slightly.

“Oh.”

Dean closed his eyes. Immediately because there it was. The realization the thing everyone seemed determined to notice before he did and when Hannah spoke again, her voice was almost careful like she was approaching a wounded animal. “Dean.” He didn't answer. “Dean.” Still nothing. “Are you in love with her?” The room went completely silent and for the first time since you'd driven away, Dean didn't have a joke. Didn't have a deflection, didn't have an escape route because the answer was sitting in his chest, heavy, terrifying, undeniable, so eventually, very quietly,  “Yeah.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Dean sat staring at the table and Hannah stared at him. Trying to reconcile what she'd just heard with the guy sitting in front of her because she'd expected a lot of things when she'd cornered him. Embarrassment, guilt, regret, not this. Not Dean looking completely devastated. “Yeah.” The word still hung in the air. Quiet. Honest. Painful. Hannah swallowed hard because she'd never heard him sound like that before, not once, not in all the years she'd known him, not over a hookup, not over a girlfriend, not over anyone and somehow that was what finally made her understand how serious this was. “Oh.” “Yeah.” The same answer said with the same miserable tone. Hannah's heart broke a little because suddenly so many things made sense. The way he'd been acting, the way he'd looked exhausted for two straight weeks, the way Logan kept making comments, the way Garrett had asked if she knew what was wrong with him. It all clicked into place. “Oh my God.” Dean groaned. Immediately. “What now?” “Holy shit.” “Hannah.” “Holy shit.” Dean dragged both hands down his face. “Hannah.” “You love her.” “Please stop saying it.”

The answer was immediate. Almost desperate and somehow that made it worse because he sounded like a man actively losing a fight with himself. “Dean.” “No.” “Dean.” “No.”

A laugh escaped Hannah despite herself. “You are unbelievable.” Dean slumped further into his chair. “You know what the worst part is?” Hannah raised an eyebrow. “What?” He looked up and the look on his face nearly killed her because he looked heartbroken, actually heartbroken. “I think she hates me.” The confession came quietly without hesitation like he'd been carrying it around for two weeks. Hannah's expression softened immediately. “Oh.” Dean looked away. “She won't answer your calls.” The words felt heavy, painful. “She won't answer mine either.” Hannah blinked. “What?” Dean laughed, again, that awful laugh, the one that never reached his eyes. “I texted.” Her eyebrows shot up. “You texted her?” “Three times.” “Dean Di Laurentis texted a girl three times?” “Thank you for making this experience worse.” Hannah ignored him. Entirely. Because this was genuinely shocking, the Dean she knew didn't chase, didn't wait, didn't sit around hoping for replies, yet here he was looking like somebody had personally cancelled happiness. “Dean.” His shoulders tensed. “The reason she was off limits” He immediately groaned. “Oh my God.” “No, listen.” “Hannah.” “Listen.” Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Dean did. Hannah took a breath, trying to find the right words because suddenly this mattered. A lot. “The reason I said that wasn't because I didn't trust her.” Dean froze. “What?” “I trusted her.”, the answer came without hesitation, absolute certainty. “Always.” Something shifted in Dean's expression, confusion, hope, disbelief, all at once. “What are you talking about?”

Hannah leaned back in her chair, thinking, remembering. The first scared teenager who'd arrived at her parents' house carrying everything she owned in two bags. The girl who'd become family, the girl she'd spent years protecting. “The reason she was off limits.”, her voice softened. “was because I didn't trust you.” Silence. Complete silence. Dean stared, actually stared. As though he wasn't entirely sure he'd heard correctly. “Oh.” The single word came out small, almost stunned.

Hannah nodded. “Yeah.” “Oh.” Another pause, longer this time. Dean looked down at the table at his hands, anywhere except Hannah because suddenly everything felt different. Everything, the entire situation, the entire misunderstanding, you hadn't been the problem, you'd never been the problem, Hannah had never been worried about you, she'd been worried about him. The version of him she'd known before, the guy who didn't stay, didn't commit, didn't fall in love after one night and honestly? She would've been right. A month ago. Six months ago. A year ago.

“Dean.” He looked up, slowly. Hannah smiled sadly. “I thought you'd hurt her.” The honesty stung, not because it was unfair but because it wasn't. He'd earned that reputation, spent years building it. “I know.” “I know you know.” Another pause. “But you didn't.” Dean's chest tightened because Hannah sounded surprised, like she'd only just realized it herself. “You didn't.” The words were firmer now, certain, confident. “I've never seen her talk about anyone the way she talked about you.” Dean's breath caught. “Hannah” “No.” She shook her head. “I'm serious.”

For the first time in two weeks, hope flickered. Tiny. Fragile. Dangerous. “What?”

Hannah smiled, a real one this time. “you should've seen her after that match.” Dean immediately sat up straighter. Traitor. Hannah noticed of course she did and she laughed at him. “There he is.” “Stop.” “No.” “Hannah.” “You looked exactly like that.” Dean buried his face in his hands, the betrayal, the humiliation, the fact she wasn't wrong. “I hate this conversation.” “I know.” A grin spread across her face then slowly faded replaced by something softer, something sincere. “You know she loves you too, right?” The room went silent and Dean stopped breathing, actually stopped breathing because no, no he didn't know that, not even a little. “Hannah.” His voice cracked slightly, barely, but enough and suddenly Hannah felt bad because she'd just watched hope crash into fear in real time. “What if she doesn't?”  The question was painfully honest. The kind that came from somewhere deep, somewhere vulnerable. And Hannah knew then, without question, without hesitation, the girl she'd spent years protecting had somehow found the one thing she'd never expected. A Dean who was completely and utterly gone. So she reached across the table and smacked his arm. Hard. “Ow.” “You're an idiot.” “Thank you.” “I'm serious.” “I gathered.” Hannah smiled and then stood, grabbing her coffee, already walking away. “Hannah?” She glanced back. Dean was still sitting there, looking slightly lost, slightly hopeful, slightly terrified. “Yeah?” He hesitated, then he decided to just go for it “What do I do?”

For a second Hannah just stared, then laughed. Because after years of watching Dean think he had all the answers, that might've been the most genuine question she'd ever heard him ask. And for the first time in two weeks, things finally felt like they might be okay, eventually. Maybe. If these two idiots stopped making everything harder than it needed to be.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Dean was still sitting at the kitchen table five minutes later, staring at absolutely nothing. His coffee had gone cold. His brain had stopped functioning and somewhere upstairs Logan was screaming about a video game. Life, unfortunately, continued. Even after somebody casually informed you that the girl you were in love with might actually have feelings for you. Dean hated that. Hated it a lot because now he couldn't stop thinking about it. What if Hannah was wrong? Even worse. What if she was right? What if you'd spent the last two weeks hating him? What if you'd spent the last two weeks missing him too? The possibilities were making him physically ill.

A cabinet slammed shut somewhere behind him. Dean looked up and Hannah was moving around the kitchen. Far too casually, far too calmly for someone who had just detonated his entire emotional state. “Hannah.” “No.” “I didn't even say anything.” “You were going to.” Dean frowned. “You don't know that.” “I absolutely do.” Unfortunately, she did Hannah had always known him far too well, the traitor. She opened the fridge pulled out a bottle of orange juice then paused, completely still. “Oh.” Dean immediately didn't like that. “What? A smile started spreading across her face, slowly, dangerously. “Hannah.” “Oh, that's interesting.” Dean sat up straighter. “What is?” She turned around, still smiling, the smile of someone who had just had an idea. A very bad idea, the kind Hannah specialized in. “What day is it?” Dean blinked. “What?” “What day is it?” “Sunday.” “Good.” That wasn't reassuring at all. “Hannah.” She ignored him. Entirely. “Doesn't she have a show next weekend?” Dean froze, the hope he'd been trying very hard not to feel surged straight back to life. Fast, dangerous and impossible to ignore. “what?”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Oh please.” “Hannah.” “You know exactly what.” A grin tugged at her mouth. “You know where it is?” Dean hated how quickly he answered. “New York.” The response came immediately, without hesitation, without thought. The second the words left his mouth, Hannah burst out laughing. “Oh my God.” “I hate you.” “You know where it is.” “Stop.” “You know the city.” “Hannah.” “You know the venue too, don't you?” Silence, complete silence. The silence was answer enough. Hannah physically doubled over. “Please stop.” “No.” “You are making this worse.” “You know the venue.”

Dean dropped his forehead onto the table. The wood felt nice, maybe he'd live there now, maybe he'd never get up. “Holy shit.” “I watched one interview.” “LIAR.” “Okay, several interviews.” The laughter that followed echoed through the kitchen. Dean endured it, barely. Eventually Hannah calmed down, somewhat, though the grin remained.

“Dean.” “No.” “I'm serious.” He looked up, reluctantly. Hannah was watching him now, the teasing gone. Something more thoughtful replacing it. “What?” “You miss her.” It wasn't a question, Dean didn't bother pretending anymore, there wasn't much point. “Yeah.” The answer came quietly, honestly, painfully. Hannah nodded as if she'd expected that, because she had. “Then let's go.” Dean stared. “What?” “Let's go.” “Hannah.” “I'm serious.” For a moment he honestly thought she was joking, waiting for the punchline, the prank, the inevitable Hannah nonsense. Instead she just looked back at him, entirely sincere. “You've spent two weeks looking miserable.” “Hannah” “She's spent two weeks ignoring my calls.”

The statement hit differently, not angry, concerned because beneath everything else, Hannah missed you too. Dean could see it. “She thinks she lost her family.” The words landed heavily between them because that was exactly what had happened, wasn't it? You hadn't run from him, not really. You'd run because you thought you'd hurt Hannah, thought you'd broken something irreplaceable, thought you'd lost your sister and suddenly Dean understood. Just how scared you must have been. The realization hurt. A lot. “So.” Hannah folded her arms. “Next weekend.” Dean stared. Still not quite believing this was happening. “You're serious.” “I'm very serious.” A smile started tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Besides.” Dean immediately didn't trust that look. “What?” “I want to see her face when she sees you.” “Hannah.” The grin widened. “Oh, she's gonna freak out.” “Hannah.” “Probably cry.” “HANNAH.”

She laughed, loudly, unapologetically. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Dean found himself laughing too, not because the situation was funny, not because anything was fixed. Nothing was fixed, not yet. But for the first time since you'd driven away, there was a possibility, a chance, a path forward and as ridiculous as it sounded, that was enough. For now.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The road trip started at six in the morning. Which Dean considered a personal attack. “Why is it still dark?” Hannah took a sip of coffee. “Because it's six in the morning.” “This is cruel.” “It's called a sunrise.” Dean pulled his hoodie tighter around himself. “People shouldn't be awake for those.” “You're such a baby.”

Dean glared at her and Hannah ignored him. The highway stretched endlessly ahead of them as New York slowly got closer with every passing mile. Not that Dean was counting, he absolutely wasn't counting, not even a little. “How long?” Hannah immediately burst out laughing. “Oh my God.”” “What?” “You lasted forty-seven seconds.” Dean rolled his eyes. “How long?” “You literally asked me that ten minutes ago.” “Things change.” “They really don't.”

The grin on Hannah's face suggested she was enjoying this far too much. Dean hated that almost as much as he hated how nervous he was becoming because every mile brought them closer, closer to seeing you, closer to talking, closer to finding out whether this was a terrible idea or the best one he'd ever had. The uncertainty was killing him. “So.” Hannah glanced across at him. “You're freaking out.” “I'm not.” “You're bouncing.” Dean looked down, his leg was indeed bouncing. “I'm fine.” “Sure.”

The conversation died briefly, music filled the car, traffic rolled past. Dean checked his phone, nothing. Then checked it again thirty seconds later, still nothing. Hannah didn't even look over this time. “You know staring at it won't make her text you.” “I wasn't staring.” “Dean.” “Fine.”

A laugh escaped her, the kind reserved for people being ridiculous. Which was unfair because he wasn't being ridiculous. His phone buzzed Dean sat up immediately, hope exploding in his chest, then dying, it was an instagram notification, not a message. Just a notification, still his thumb moved automatically. Opening the app, and then- “Oh.” The word escaped before he could stop it, Hannah looked over. immediately suspicious. “What?” Dean didn't answer because his brain had just completely stopped functioning. You had posted a story. Apparently from the gym and somehow you'd managed to look unfairly good doing absolutely nothing. You were standing in front of a mirror, hair pulled back, training gear on, one hand resting on your hip, the other holding your phone, sweaty from training, smiling slightly like you'd taken the photo without even trying. Which somehow made it worse because Dean knew better. You absolutely knew what you were doing and apparently so did half the internet. The view count alone was enough to prove that. “Holy shit.” Dean blinked, still staring, still processing, still completely useless. Beside him, Hannah was now openly laughing. “Oh no.” “What?” “You've got the face.” Dean finally dragged his eyes away from his phone. “The face?” “The face.” “I don't have a face.” “You absolutely have a face.”

Dean looked back down, a terrible decision because there was that smile again. The one he hadn't seen in person for weeks. The one he'd spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about. The one that somehow still made his stomach do stupid things. “Oh, you're gone gone.” “Hannah.” “No seriously.” She was laughing so hard now she could barely breathe. “You looked like somebody unplugged your brain.” Dean pointed at her. “Drive the car.” “I am driving the car.” “Focus on that.” “I am.” Another glance at his phone, another mistake because suddenly he was remembering things. The way you'd laughed. The way you'd stolen all the blankets. The way you'd looked at him across Hannah's living room. The way you'd smiled at him that morning.

“Dean.” “Hm?” “You're smiling.” He immediately stopped, too late. “Oh my God.” “Please.” “You didn't even realize.” “Hannah.” “You were literally smiling at your phone.”

Dean dropped his head back against the seat, the humiliation was endless. Absolutely endless. Unfortunately Hannah wasn't done, not even close. “You know what's funny?” “No.” “She probably has absolutely no idea we're driving to New York right now.” Dean's stomach immediately flipped because she was right. You had no idea, right now you were probably training. Getting ready for the show. Completely unaware that in a few hours Hannah would be standing backstage. Completely unaware that Dean would be right beside her. The thought made his pulse jump.

Hannah noticed, again. Because apparently nothing escaped her. “You are so screwed.” Dean looked out the window. Trying and failing to hide his smile. Trying and failing to hide the hope creeping back into his chest. For the first time in weeks, seeing you didn't feel impossible anymore, it felt real, close. Just a few more hours away and if his heart happened to be beating a little faster because of that? Well. Nobody needed to know. Unfortunately, Hannah knew everything.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The arena was loud, louder than Dean remembered. Music blasted from somewhere overhead, fans packed the seats, merchandise stands lined the concourse. The entire place buzzed with energy and somehow Dean barely noticed any of it because he was too busy scanning every possible entrance. Like an idiot. “You know she isn't going to magically appear.” Dean looked over. Hannah was carrying a soda and looking far too entertained. “Didn't ask.” “You didn't have to.” Dean rolled his eyes. The smile on Hannah's face only widened, unfortunately. The pair of them found their seats just as the next match ended. A roar erupted through the crowd, the ring announcer began speaking Dean barely heard a word because according to the show card, your match was next. His stomach immediately attempted to leave his body. Fantastic.

“Relax.” “I'm relaxed.” “Dean.” “I'm literally sitting down.” “You're crushing your drink.” Dean looked down, his cup was indeed in danger.

Before Hannah could continue tormenting him, the lights suddenly dimmed. The crowd erupted Dean froze because he knew that reaction, knew that sound, your sound and then your music hit. The reaction was instant, people jumping to their feet. Cheering, screaming. Phones lighting up around the arena. Dean's heart nearly stopped because there you were appearing at the top of the stage and somehow you looked even better than you had in every video he'd watched, every photo, every memory. The gear glittered beneath the lights, the confidence was unmistakable, the smile on your face bright enough to reach the cheap seats, you looked happy. Dean's chest tightened immediately because he hadn't seen that smile in two weeks. Not properly, not in person, not where it mattered.

“You are staring.” Dean ignored Hannah because you were making your way down the ramp, slapping hands with fans. Laughing at something shouted from the crowd, completely unaware that he was there, completely unaware that he was watching. And for some reason that made this feel strangely intimate, like he was seeing something he wasn't supposed to. The real you, the performer, the star, the woman who belonged in front of thousands of people. Not hidden away in some hockey house, not curled up beneath his blankets. The realization should've made him feel smaller. Instead it made him absurdly proud. Which was ridiculous. He had absolutely nothing to do with your success.

“That's her.” The words escaped quietly, without thought. “You sound proud.” Dean blinked, then frowned, because he did. God. He really did.

The match began and for the next fifteen minutes Dean forgot to breathe. Every near fall, every big move, every time you hit the mat, every time somebody grabbed your arm, every second felt personal. Painfully personal. Which explained why Hannah was laughing at him by the end. “You know wrestling isn't real, right?” Dean nearly choked. “Do not start.” “I'm serious.” “You watched me play hockey.” “Exactly.” The grin returned. “You look exactly the same.” Dean hated how accurate that was because every time somebody hit you, he wanted to fight them. Logically he knew you were fine, emotionally? Different story, very different story.

Finally the finish came, the crowd exploded. Your hand raised high in victory. That smile appearing again, bright, victorious, beautiful. Dean felt his own answering smile before he could stop it and somewhere beside him Hannah saw it. Saw all of it. The way he looked at you. The way his eyes followed you. The way he smiled when you did. The way he looked completely and utterly gone. She didn't say anything, didn't tease, didn't laugh because for the first time since she'd met Dean Di Laurentis, she was absolutely certain. He loved you and now all they had to do was find you. Which, unfortunately for everyone involved, was probably about to be the easy part.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Backstage always felt different after a match, the adrenaline was still there, the victory still buzzing beneath your skin but the noise from the arena felt distant now, muted. Like it belonged to somebody else. You'd changed out of your gear, pulled on an oversized hoodie and were halfway through a bottle of water when Maya disappeared to find catering. Leaving you alone, which was probably for the best because your mind was already wandering. The match had gone well, really well. The crowd had been hot from the start. The finish had landed perfectly. By all accounts you should've been happy. Instead your thoughts kept drifting somewhere they had absolutely no business drifting, to a hockey player, again. A laugh escaped you. Pathetic, truly pathetic.

Before you could spiral any further, movement caught your attention. Someone walking down the hallway. You glanced up and froze. The water bottle slipped slightly in your grip because standing twenty feet away was Hannah. For a second you genuinely thought you were imagining her. Your brain refusing to process what your eyes were seeing but then she smiled, small, tentative and suddenly your stomach dropped. Hard because she was here, actually here. Every terrible possibility immediately flooded your brain. She knew. Of course she knew. Why else would she be here? The panic arrived so quickly it almost made you dizzy.

“Hannah.” Her smile faltered slightly. The reaction wasn't what she'd expected. And honestly? That hurt because you looked terrified, not happy, not relieved, terrified. As though seeing her was the worst thing that could've happened. “Hey, idiot.” Your eyes immediately started stinging. God, that nickname. You'd missed that nickname. “H-hi.” Excellent, smooth, very cool, not awkward at all.

Hannah's expression softened instantly. “Oh no.” The words came out quietly. Concern replacing everything else. “Oh no.” You looked away, immediately because if you looked at her any longer, you were probably going to cry and that would be humiliating, especially in public, especially backstage. “You've been avoiding me.” The statement wasn't angry, which somehow made it worse. You swallowed, hard. “I know.” “Why?” The question was simple, gentle and impossible to answer. Because where were you supposed to start? Sorry, I accidentally slept with one of your best friends and then spent two weeks convincing myself I'd destroyed our entire relationship? Not exactly a great conversation starter. Silence stretched between you. Long enough for Hannah to understand. Not the details, the fear, the guilt, the shame. All of it. “Oh.” The realization crossed her face slowly, painfully. “You thought I was angry.” Your throat tightened immediately because there it was, the truth, the thing you'd been running from.

You looked down at the floor. Unable to meet her eyes and somehow that was answer enough. For a moment neither of you spoke. Then, “You absolute idiot.” Your head snapped up. “What?” Hannah was crying, actually crying. Tears gathering in her eyes and somehow she looked offended, deeply offended. “Do you seriously think I got in a car and drove six hours because I'm angry?" The question caught you completely off guard. “I-" “No” Hannah pointed aggressively. “No.” “Hannah” “No.” The tears were fully falling now, which was unfair because now your own eyes were stinging harder. “You ignored my calls for two weeks.” The hurt in her voice hit like a punch. “I know.” “You ignored my texts.” “I know.” “I thought something terrible happened.”

Your chest cracked open because somehow you'd never considered that side of it. You'd been so focused on your own guilt, your own fear. That you'd forgotten Hannah loved you too, enough to worry, enough to miss you, enough to drive across multiple states to find you. “I'm sorry.” The words broke apart halfway through. “I'm so sorry.” Hannah's expression softened instantly, like it always did, like it had a hundred times before. Then she crossed the remaining distance between you and wrapped her arms around you. Just like that, no hesitation, no anger, no disappointment. Just Hannah. Your knees nearly gave out because suddenly you were sixteen again. Standing in a house that wasn't yours, terrified of being sent away. And Hannah was there, choosing you, again. The first sob escaped before you could stop it, embarrassing, loud, instant. “Oh my God.”

Hannah squeezed you tighter. “There she is.” You laughed through tears. Immediately hating yourself for it. “You suck.” “You love me.” “Unfortunately.” A watery laugh escaped both of you, for a few moments neither let go, Neither wanted to. Eventually Hannah pulled back slightly Just enough to look at you and whatever she saw made her smile sadly. “You know you could never lose me, right?” The words shattered whatever composure you had left because that had been the fear, the real fear. Not Dean. Not the mistake. Not any of it. Losing her, losing the family that had chosen you. The family you'd spent years loving. The family you'd finally allowed yourself to belong to. “I thought” Your voice cracked, pathetically. “I thought I ruined everything.” Hannah stared at you, then shook her head, slowly, firmly. “You could never ruin us.” The tears started falling again. Neither of you bothered fighting them. “You are my sister.” The words landed directly in your chest, heavy, certain, true. And suddenly all the fear you'd been carrying for two weeks began to crack. Piece by piece because Hannah wasn't angry, she wasn't disappointed, she wasn't leaving, she was still here, still yours, still family and for the first time since driving away from Briar, you could finally breathe again. You laughed shakily, wiping at your face.

“I hate crying.” “No you don't.” “I absolutely do.” “You cry at commercials.” “That happened one time.” “It was a dog food commercial.” “The dog got adopted.”

Hannah immediately started laughing. The sound warm and familiar, the sound of home. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you laughed too. The tension finally beginning to ease from your shoulders, the weight finally beginning to lift. Then, “Good.” You frowned. “What?” Hannah's smile turned suspicious. Dangerous, far too pleased with itself. “Good.”  A feeling of dread immediately settled in your stomach, you knew that smile, you hated that smile, that smile meant Hannah was about to ruin your life. “What’s good?” The grin widened. “Oh, now we can talk about Dean.” Your soul physically left your body, immediately. Every ounce of relief vanished, gone, evaporated. You stared at her, horrified, absolutely horrified. “We absolutely cannot.”

The laugh she let out echoed through the hallway. “Yes we can.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “Hannah.” “You've had two weeks.” “HANNAH.” “You don't get to avoid this conversation forever.” You groaned loudly, dropping your head backwards, you glanced around the hallway as though a convenient fire alarm might save you. Nothing, no such luck. “I don't want to talk about him.” The lie was obvious, painfully obvious. Hannah looked genuinely offended. “You are a terrible liar.” “I know.” “You miss him.”

You froze, the words hit harder than expected because they were true, completely true. You looked away, which was answer enough. “Oh my God.” “Hannah.” “You really do.” Your face burned because yes, obviously, you missed him, you missed his stupid smile, his stupid laugh, his stupid face, his stupid habit of looking at you like you were the most interesting person in the room. You missed all of it. Which was deeply unfair because missing him hadn't made anything easier. If anything, it had made everything worse. “He hates me.” The words escaped before you could stop them. Hannah blinked. Once. Then twice. “What?” You shrugged. Unable to meet her eyes. “He probably thinks I'm insane.” The memory immediately surfaced. Walking out, crying, driving away, ignoring everyone. It wasn't exactly your finest moment.

"He definitely doesn't." You looked up, frowning. “How would you know?” The smile returned, slowly, knowingly and suddenly a horrible realization began creeping into your brain. “Hannah.” “What?” Your stomach dropped. “Hannah.” “What?” A grin spread across her face. The grin of someone who knew something. The grin of someone who had been waiting for this exact moment. Your eyes narrowed, slowly, suspiciously “where is Dean?” Silence. One second. Two. Three. Then Hannah laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. “Oh my God.” Your heart stopped. “Hannah.” “Oh my God.” “HANNAH.” And suddenly, very suddenly. You had a horrible feeling that your day was about to get significantly more complicated.

Hannah was still laughing. Actually laughing. Bent slightly at the waist, holding her stomach. Which felt deeply unfair considering your entire nervous system had just shut down. “Hannah.” “Oh my God.” “Hannah.” The grin on her face somehow widened. “You should see your face.” You hated everybody, especially Hannah. Especially because the horrible suspicion forming in your stomach was becoming more believable by the second. “Where is he?” The question came out quieter this time, less demanding, more nervous.  Hannah's expression softened. Just slightly, enough for you to notice, enough for your pulse to quicken. “He came with me.” Your heart immediately forgot how to function. For one terrifying second you genuinely thought it had stopped, completely. “Hannah.” The smile disappeared entirely now, replaced by something gentler, something almost affectionate. “He missed you.” The words hit harder than any wrestling move ever could. You looked away immediately because hearing it out loud somehow made everything worse. Better. But worse. “He shouldn't.” The answer came automatically, without thought, without logic. Just guilt. The same guilt you'd been carrying around for two weeks. Hannah rolled her eyes. “So we're still doing that?” You frowned. “What?” “The self-destructive thing.” “Hannah.” “No.” She pointed at you, aggressively. “You don't get to decide how he feels.”

The words landed because she was right. Annoyingly, painfully. Right. Silence stretched between you. “Go outside.” You blinked. “What?” “Go outside.” Your stomach dropped. “Go.” She physically turned you towards the hallway. “Move.” You dug your heels in. “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” “What if” Hannah groaned dramatically. “What if he hates me?” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Honest, raw, embarrassingly vulnerable. For a moment Hannah just stared at you. Then she actually laughed. Not meanly not cruelly. Just because the idea itself was ridiculous. “Oh sweetheart.” The nickname made you suspicious. Hannah smiled, far too knowingly. “He definitely doesn't hate you.” Your pulse somehow sped up even more. Which shouldn't have been physically possible. “How do you know?” The grin returned, dangerous, terrifying. “Oh, because I've spent six hours trapped in a car with him.” “Go outside.” “Hannah.” “Outside.” “Hannah.” “NOW.”

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The evening air felt cooler than expected, the arena sat behind you. Crowds drifting in and out of the building. Production trucks lined the parking lot, the sounds of people working floated through the darkness, for a moment you didn't see him and somehow that was worse. Because now you had time to think. Time to panic, time to reconsider every life choice you'd ever made. Then you spotted him. Standing near the edge of the lot. Hands tucked into his jacket pockets, head tilted slightly downward, waiting. Just waiting. Your breath caught immediately because there he was. The same stupid hockey player you'd spent two weeks trying not to think about. The same stupid hockey player you'd failed spectacularly at forgetting. As if sensing you, Dean looked up and froze. The distance between you suddenly felt enormous. Twenty feet, thirty maybe. Yet somehow it felt impossible to cross. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke, just stared. Taking each other in. Making sure the other was real.

Eventually Dean laughed softly, the sound nervous. Almost disbelieving. “Hey.”

The single word nearly shattered your composure because God, you'd missed his voice. “Hey.” Brilliant. Wonderful. A conversational masterpiece. Dean smiled, small, warm. The same smile that had ruined your life. Then he lifted one hand and suddenly you noticed what he was holding. A cigarette. Your eyes widened. Dean glanced down and then back at you, a little sheepish, a little hopeful. “thought you might want this” Your throat tightened because of course he remembered the stupid victory cigarette. The tradition nobody remembered. Nobody except him. “I figured”, His smile softened. “you won.” For a second neither of you spoke because suddenly the cigarette wasn't a cigarette anymore. It was proof, proof he'd listened, proof he'd remembered, proof that somehow all the little things had mattered to him too.

The realization hit you square in the chest, painfully, beautifully. Dean took a step closer. Not much, just one. Giving you room, giving you a choice and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, careful. Like he was afraid of scaring you away. “I missed you.” The confession hung between you. Simple. Honest. No jokes and no flirting, just truth. And somehow that made it infinitely harder to hear because for two weeks you'd convinced yourself this moment would never happen, that he'd moved on, forgotten, gone back to being Dean. Instead he was standing in a parking lot in New York holding a victory cigarette because he'd remembered something you'd told him once and looking at you like you were still the only girl in the world. “I missed you too.” The words escaped before you could stop them and the relief that flooded Dean's face almost broke your heart.

He wasn't entirely sure how he was still standing. The moment you'd appeared through the arena doors, every speech he'd prepared had immediately disappeared, gone, vanished, absolutely useless. For two weeks he'd imagined this conversation. A hundred different versions, a thousand. Somewhere along the way he'd convinced himself he'd know exactly what to say. Instead he was standing in a parking lot holding a cigarette like an idiot, watching  you. Trying to convince himself you were actually there. Because for a while he'd genuinely believed he'd never see you again.

And now you were looking at him, the same way you had that night outside the house. The same way you'd looked at him across Hannah's living room, only softer, sadder. Like the last two weeks had been hard on you too. Dean nearly laughed when you told him you missed him, not because it was funny but because relief hit so hard it was almost dizzying. You missed him, Jesus Christ, you missed him. For a second he just looked at you, taking everything in. The oversized hoodie, the damp hair from your shower, the traces of exhaustion around your eyes, the fact you looked nothing like the larger-than-life performer he'd spent the last hour watching in the ring.

You just looked like you and somehow that was worse because he'd missed this version most of all. Neither of you spoke, the silence wasn't awkward, just fragile, like one wrong move might shatter it. Dean shoved his free hand into his pocket, mostly so you'd stop noticing how nervous he was. Unfortunately, that was impossible. You'd always been annoyingly observant. “You drove all the way to see me?”, the question came quietly. Dean smiled, a little. “Technically Hannah drove.” A laugh escaped you, small, real. The sound hit him directly in the chest. God. He'd missed that too. Everything about you felt familiar, dangerously familiar, like slipping back into something he'd never realized he'd lost.

“Hannah was worried.” You looked down immediately, the smile disappearing. Dean regretted the words instantly because he knew that look, guilt. The same guilt he'd seen on your face that morning, the same guilt that had haunted him for two weeks. “Hey.” Your eyes lifted meeting his and Dean swallowed hard because suddenly this mattered, a lot. “Hannah isn't mad.”

You laughed softly. Without humour. “I figured that out.” “Good.” “I thought she hated me.” The confession was barely above a whisper and Dean's heart cracked because he'd spent two weeks thinking you hated him while you'd spent two weeks thinking Hannah hated you. The entire situation was so unbelievably stupid and somehow that made it worse. “She loves you.” You smiled, small, sad. “I know.”

Dean nodded, then before he could stop himself, “I don't hate you either.” The words escaped accidentally. You blinked, then laughed. A proper laugh this time, warm, bright. The kind he hadn't heard in weeks and suddenly Dean was laughing too because apparently they were both idiots. “Good.” You shook your head looking down at your shoes. “Good.” The smile remained, lingering. For a few moments neither of you spoke, the city buzzed around you. Cars passing, crew members moving equipment, distant voices echoing from somewhere near the loading dock but Dean barely noticed any of it because you were standing three feet away, close enough to touch, close enough to reach for and somehow that felt infinitely more dangerous than six hours of distance.

His eyes dropped briefly, to your hand then back to your face, the movement was automatic, instinctive. And apparently you noticed because your breath caught, just slightly. Dean noticed that too, unfortunately. The realization immediately made his pulse jump. “Can I ask you something?” Your voice was softer now, more cautious. Dean nodded. “Anything.” You hesitated, looking nervous which was new you were rarely nervous. Not in front of crowds, not in front of cameras, not in front of anyone. Yet here you were twisting the sleeve of your hoodie between your fingers. “Why did you come?” The question landed harder than expected because suddenly there was nowhere to hide. No jokes. No deflections. No easy answer. Just the truth. Dean looked at you and realized he was tired of pretending, tired of dancing around it, tired of acting like this was something smaller than it was. So he told the truth. “I couldn't stop thinking about you.” The words left his mouth before he could second-guess them, before he could soften them, before he could turn them into a joke.

Your eyes widened immediately. Dean's stomach dropped, too much, that was too much. He'd absolutely ruined it, fantastic. Then, very quietly, “You couldn't?” Dean's laugh was helpless, completely helpless. “No.” The honesty felt terrifying, liberating. Both at the same time. He rubbed the back of his neck looking away briefly almost embarrassed. “Trust me.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “Logan, Garrett and Hannah have all made fun of me extensively.” That earned another laugh thank God because he'd take your laughter over almost anything.

“You've watched my matches, haven't you?” Dean froze and your eyes narrowed, slowly, suspiciously. “Oh my God.” Dean groaned “Oh no.” “Oh my God.” “Please.” “You have.” “Maybe.” The grin spreading across your face nearly killed him. “You've been watching my matches." “It sounds worse when you say it like that.” “Dean.” “It was research.”

You laughed so hard you had to look away and for the first time since he'd arrived in New York, Dean felt something settle inside his chest. Because there it was, that feeling, the one he'd been missing, the one he'd spent two weeks chasing, just standing here. Making you laugh, watching your eyes light up and suddenly he knew. Without question. Without doubt. Driving six hours had been the easiest decision he'd ever made.

For a while neither of you said anything, the cigarette burned slowly between Dean's fingers, the city hummed around you. Cars moving through nearby streets, arena staff filtering in and out of side entrances, life continuing, completely unaware that both of your worlds had just shifted back into place. Dean wasn't entirely sure what to do with that because for two weeks he'd prepared himself for every outcome except this one you missing him. Standing here, looking at him like that. Like maybe he'd been suffering alone for absolutely no reason. The thought was equal parts comforting and infuriating.

“So.” The word left him before he could stop it, immediately sounding stupid, brilliant. You smiled, a small one, nervous. “So.” Dean laughed quietly, mostly at himself, then rubbed the back of his neck. The old nervous habit he'd never managed to break and suddenly he was nineteen again. Awkward. Unsure. Trying very hard not to screw something up. Which was ridiculous, he'd never felt awkward around girls before. Then again, you weren't just some girl. “You know.” Your voice was soft, careful. “I didn't think I'd ever see you again.” The confession caught him completely off guard, his chest tightened instantly because that wasn't what he'd expected you to say, not even close. Your eyes dropped to the pavement, like you couldn't quite bear to look at him and somehow that hurt more. “I thought you hated me.” Dean stared for a second he wondered if he'd heard you correctly. “What?”, the word escaped immediately, disbelief. You laughed softly. “I mean…” You shrugged looking uncomfortable, embarrassed. “I kind of ran out of your house crying.” Dean blinked, once, then twice, then let out a laugh. A genuine one because Jesus Christ of all the conclusions you could've reached “You thought I hated you?” A flush crept across your cheeks. “Dean.” “No.” He pointed at you, the movement automatic. “You thought I hated you?” “Stop saying it like that.” “I'm saying it exactly like that.” You groaned, covering your face. “Oh my God.”

Dean couldn't stop smiling, not because it was funny. Because it was so unbelievably backwards, the entire situation, all of it. For two weeks he'd convinced himself you'd regretted him. Meanwhile you'd been convinced he hated you. Neither of you had apparently considered talking. Which was deeply embarrassing, for everyone involved. “You left.” The words escaped before he could stop them. Quieter this time, the smile fading because despite everything, that part still hurt.

You looked up immediately meeting his eyes and suddenly Dean saw it. The guilt, the sadness, the same expression he'd been carrying around himself. “I know.” The answer came barely above a whisper. “I know.” For a moment neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away. “I thought I'd hurt Hannah.” There it was, the truth, the real truth. Not Dean, not the hookup, not regret, Hannah. Dean felt something inside his chest soften immediately because suddenly everything made sense. Every ignored call, every unanswered text, every mile of distance. You hadn't run from him, you'd run because you were scared of losing your family the people who had chosen you, the people who mattered most. And honestly? He couldn't even blame you. “I know.” The words surprised both of you. Your eyebrows lifted slightly. Dean shrugged a little helplessly. “Hannah explained.”

A laugh escaped you, small, relieved. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” You looked down at your shoes. Shaking your head. “I feel stupid.” Dean barked out a laugh. “Good.” Your head snapped up. “What?” “Because I feel stupid too.” The smile that appeared nearly stopped his heart because there it was. The smile, the real one, the one he'd missed most and suddenly neither of you were looking at the ground anymore. Neither of you were avoiding eye contact, the distance between you somehow felt smaller now. Easier. Dean took a slow breath, then another, trying to ignore the way his pulse sped up every time you looked at him. Failing spectacularly. “Can I tell you something?”, the question came quietly. Your expression softened immediately. “Always.” The answer hit him harder than it should have, always. Jesus Christ. Dean looked away briefly. Gathering courage. Which was ridiculous. He'd never needed courage before not for anything. Yet somehow you had reduced him to this. “I was really angry with you.” The confession slipped out before he could rethink it. Your face fell immediately Dean hated himself. Instantly. “No.” He shook his head, quickly. “Not like that.” You looked confused now, concerned. Waiting. Dean swallowed, hard. then forced himself to keep going. “I was angry because I cared.”

The truth settled heavily between you, raw, honest, terrifying. “When you left...” He laughed quietly, looking down for a second. Unable to believe he was saying any of this out loud. “I kept telling myself to get over it.” Your chest visibly rose with a slow breath. Dean noticed, “I tried.” A smile tugged at his mouth, self-deprecating, hopeless. “I failed pretty badly.” That earned a laugh, thank God because if you hadn't laughed he might've actually died.

Then your expression softened again. Something warmer replacing the sadness. “Dean.” The way you said his name should've been illegal. Honestly. The man was hanging on by a thread. “What?” “I'm really glad you came.” The words landed somewhere deep, somewhere dangerous. Dean felt every bit of tension leave his body. Just like that. Because he'd driven six hours hoping, praying, that maybe seeing him wouldn't make things worse. And now here you were looking at him like this telling him you were glad, not angry, not upset, glad. The realization made something warm spread through his chest, slow, steady, certain. For the first time in weeks, everything felt possible again and neither of you noticed that the cigarette had long since burned out. Neither of you cared. You were too busy looking at each other.

The conversation had become easier somewhere along the way. Neither of you could pinpoint exactly when. Maybe after the apologies. Maybe after the honesty. Maybe after finally admitting how much the last two weeks had sucked. Whatever it was, the tension had started melting away, slowly. Piece by piece until it almost felt normal again. Dangerously normal.

Dean was leaning against the wall now. You standing beside him. Close enough that your shoulders occasionally brushed. Close enough that neither of you had bothered stepping away. “So let me get this straight.” Your eyes narrowed suspiciously and Dean immediately knew he was in trouble. “You've been watching my matches.” He groaned, immediately. “We've discussed this.” “No.” A grin spread across your face. “We really haven't.” “We absolutely have.” “You know my entrance.” Dean looked away, instantly, a terrible mistake. Your gasp echoed through the parking lot. “Oh my God.” “Please.” “You know my entrance.” “Maybe.” “Dean.” “It just happened.” The laugh that escaped you nearly killed him, actually nearly killed him because he'd spent two weeks missing that sound, two weeks wondering if he'd ever hear it again. And now here it was, warm, bright, familiar. The smile on his face appeared before he could stop it. Which was unfortunate because you noticed. Your laughter softened. Your eyes lingering on him for a moment longer than before and suddenly Dean forgot what he'd been about to say. The city disappeared, the arena disappeared, everything disappeared. Leaving only you, again. Always you, God. He was in trouble, real trouble. Your smile slowly faded. Not completely, just enough. Something softer replacing it. something that made his pulse jump. And for one terrifying second Dean wondered if maybe..

"OH THANK GOD." Both of you jumped. Immediately. The voice echoed across the parking lot. Loud, dramatic, entirely too familiar. You squeezed your eyes shut. “Nope I’m not doing this” Dean looked up. Confused. Then spotted a woman striding towards them with the confidence of somebody who feared absolutely nothing, Maya. The friend from the photos, the friend from the videos, the friend he met briefly the day he met you, the day his life changed. And judging by the grin on her face, she already knew everything, fantastic. “Oh thank God.” Maya repeated looking genuinely relieved. “Seriously.” You groaned. “Maya.” She pointed directly at you, then pointed at Dean, Dean blinked. “What?” Maya looked between the two of you, then laughed “Do you know how annoying she's been?” You buried your face in your hands  “Oh my God.” “Unbearable.” “Maya.” “Terrible.” “Maya.” “Absolutely miserable.” Dean's smile was becoming impossible to hide because honestly? This felt familiar, the same way Hannah felt familiar, the same teasing, the same affection hidden beneath the insults. “You told her?” You sounded horrified and Maya looked offended. “I had to live through it.” Dean laughed a genuine one. The first one he'd managed without effort in weeks. Unfortunately that only encouraged Maya. “Oh, there it is.” “There what is?” “The laugh.” Dean immediately knew he was walking into a trap. “What laugh?” Maya pointed aggressively. “The one she wouldn't shut up about.” The parking lot went silent. You froze. Dean froze. Maya froze. Then slowly smiled. “Oh.” Your soul visibly left your body. “MAYA.” “Oh my God.” “MAYA.” Dean was trying very hard not to smile, trying, failing, spectacularly.

“You talked about me?” The question slipped out before he could stop it and you looked ready to commit actual violence. “Maya.” The warning came through gritted teeth. “I don't remember.” “Liar.” “Maya.” “Liar.” Dean looked between the two of you, then back to Maya, then back to you. The blush spreading across your face told him everything he needed to know and suddenly he was smiling again. That stupid uncontrollable smile, the one Hannah kept making fun of, the one he apparently couldn't stop whenever you were involved.

Maya noticed and her expression immediately softened. Just slightly, just enough. Then she looked at Dean, sizing him up, judging, evaluating. The protective friend assessment Dean recognized it instantly. After a moment she nodded, once. Like she'd reached a conclusion. apparently one she liked. “Good.” You frowned. “What good?” Maya smirked. “He came.” Your heart visibly melted. Right there. In front of everybody Dean saw it happen, Maya saw it happen. Hell, probably people inside the arena saw it happen and suddenly Maya looked very pleased with herself. Then she checked her phone, immediately groaning. “Unfortunately.” You already looked suspicious. “What?” “You have media.” “No.” “Yes.” “No.” “Yes.” The argument started immediately. Dean watched with amusement. The two of you bickering back and forth without missing a beat, comfortable, familiar, family and for the first time all night he could actually picture himself fitting into this part of your life. The realization was terrifying, wonderful. Both at the same time.

Eventually Maya pointed towards the building. “Move.” You glared and she glared back. Neither budged. Then your eyes drifted back to Dean and something changed. The annoyance disappeared replaced by uncertainty. Like you didn't really want to leave Dean felt the exact same thing. Which was ridiculous. You'd literally just found each other again. “You should go.” The words came out softer than intended, your smile returned, small, reluctant. “Yeah.” Neither moved, Maya made a dramatic gagging noise “Oh my God.” The spell broke instantly. You laughed. Dean laughed and Maya looked deeply satisfied with herself. Like she'd just witnessed exactly what she'd hoped to see,m aybe she had. “Don't disappear.” The words came from Maya, directed at Dean, simple, serious. The teasing gone for the first time all conversation. Dean met her gaze. Then glanced towards you, only you. “Wasn't planning on it.” The answer came easily, honestly, without hesitation. And the look that crossed your face afterward? Dean knew he'd remember it for a very long time.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The interviews took forever every single one of them. You'd smiled for photos. Done media. Filmed social content. Talked about the match, talked about upcoming events, talked about things you barely remembered saying. The entire time your brain remained somewhere else, somewhere outside, standing in a parking lot. Holding a victory cigarette, every time your phone buzzed, your stomach jumped, every time someone opened a door, you looked up. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Maya found it hilarious of course she did. “You've answered three questions wrong.” You shot her a glare. “I have not.” “The interviewer asked what city we're in.” You immediately looked away. “That happened one time.” “It happened fifteen minutes ago.” You hated everybody, especially Maya. Unfortunately she knew it.

Almost two hours later, you finally escaped, the hallway backstage had mostly emptied. Crew members were packing equipment away, production staff moved through the building, the post-show chaos was winding down. You rolled your shoulders, exhausted. Ready for a shower, ready for sleep. Ready— Your feet slowed, immediately. Because sitting on a production crate near the loading dock was Dean, still there waiting. Your chest physically hurt because he'd been here the whole time. Not scrolling his phone, not distracted, not wandering around. Waiting. For you. The moment he spotted you approaching, he stood, the smile appearing instantly like it belonged there, like it had been waiting too. “There she is.” The words hit embarrassingly hard, you hated that. “You're still here.” Dean laughed. “Yeah.” “Why?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, honest, genuine and for a second Dean looked confused. Like the answer should've been obvious. “Because you were still here.”

Your heart betrayed you. Immediately. The stupid thing practically melted. You looked away, fast. Too late Dean caught the reaction. The grin that followed was infuriating and somehow adorable. A combination you deeply resented.

A few minutes later you found yourselves walking through the parking lot together. Neither in any rush. Neither wanting the evening to end. Your rental car sat near the back. Nothing fancy. Just something you'd picked up for the weekend. Dean glanced at it, then at you. “You driving?” You narrowed your eyes. “What does that mean?” “It means you're terrifying.” “Dean.” “You drive like you're entering the Royal Rumble.” A laugh escaped you. “I do not.” “You absolutely do.” “You've never seen me drive.” “I can feel it.” You laughed again, the sound warm and easy now. Comfortable. Like the two-week gap had never happened, almost. Dean followed you to the driver's side, then paused. Hands shoved into his pockets. The nervousness returning, just slightly.

"What?" His eyes lifted, meeting yours. “Can I come with you?” The question was simple but something about it made your pulse jump because he wasn't asking to hook up, wasn't asking to stay over, wasn't asking for anything complicated. You smiled, softly. “Yeah.” The relief that crossed his face nearly killed you.

Twenty minutes later the city lights blurred outside the windows, music played quietly through the speakers. Neither of you spoke much. The silence felt comfortable. Easy. Until Dean started singing, very badly. You glanced over, immediately horrified. “Oh my God.” Dean didn't stop, in fact he got louder. Some eighties rock song had come on. One you both knew. One everyone knew and Dean was performing like he was headlining a stadium. “No.” You were laughing too hard to finish the sentence. “No.” “Oh we're doing this.” “We are not.” “Oh we're absolutely doing this.” Then he pointed dramatically at you. Your fate was sealed because somehow within thirty seconds both of you were screaming lyrics through laughter. Missing half the words, making up the rest, the windows shaking, the performance deeply embarrassing and completely perfect. At a red light Dean glanced over, still smiling, still laughing. Then he froze because you were smiling too, not politely, not carefully. Not the smile you'd been wearing for weeks. The real one, the one he'd fallen for. The one that made your eyes light up. The one he'd thought he might never see again, the song continued playing. Neither of you noticed. For a second it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. Just him, just you, just this and for the first time since that morning in Briar, neither of you were wondering what came next. You were simply enjoying being together. Exactly where both of you wanted to be.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The Airbnb felt impossibly quiet after the noise of the arena. No crowds, no music, no bright lights just the soft click of the door shutting behind you. For a moment neither moved. You stood near the kitchen counter, dropping your keys into a ceramic bowl by the door, while Dean lingered a few feet away. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it felt strange because for two weeks all he'd wanted was to be in the same room as you again. Now he was. and suddenly he didn't know where to start. The drive over had been easy, fun. You'd laughed. Sang badly to the radio. Spent twenty minutes arguing about whether a wrestler could beat a hockey player in a real fight. It had felt normal, almost dangerously normal but now that you were alone again, everything felt different. The air seemed thicker somehow, charged. Neither of you quite sure what happened next, Dean watched as you slipped off your shoes. The oversized hoodie you'd thrown on after the show practically swallowed you whole it was nothing like the gear you'd worn earlier, nothing like the image thousands of people had screamed for an hour ago, just you and somehow Dean thought that version might be his favourite. You glanced up and caught him looking, a smile immediately tugged at your mouth.

“What?” Dean huffed out a quiet laugh. “Nothing.” “You were staring.” “I wasn't.” “You absolutely were.” The smile widened. Dean felt his heart do something deeply embarrassing because apparently even after all this time, seeing you happy still affected him like a teenager. You moved towards the couch dropping onto one end tucking your legs beneath yourself. Dean sat down beside you a moment later. Close enough that he could feel the warmth of your shoulder, not touching, almost. The distance somehow felt worse and for a few moments neither spoke. The quiet stretched. Comfortable. Until finally

“This is insane.” The words left your mouth suddenly. Dean looked over. You were staring at your hands a small laugh escaping you, the nervous kind., the kind he'd never heard from you before. “What is?” Your eyes lifted, meeting his and suddenly Dean knew exactly what you were going to say. “Us.” A laugh escaped him, immediate, helpless. “Yeah." The smile that followed looked almost disbelieving like you couldn't quite believe the situation yourselves “I mean seriously.” You shook your head. “We knew each other for what?” Dean answered immediately. “Sixteen hours.” Silence, then your eyes widened. Then Dean realized his mistake. Then both of you started laughing, hard. “Oh my God.” You pointed at him. “You counted too?” Dean dropped his head back against the couch, the humiliation was endless absolutely endless. “I hate this conversation.” “You counted.” “So did you.” “That's not the point.” “It is exactly the point.” Your laughter filled the room, warm, bright. The sound he'd spent two weeks missing Dean found himself smiling before he even realized he was doing it because there it was again, that feeling. The one he'd been chasing ever since you'd driven away. The simple act of making you laugh, God. He'd missed you, so much. The realization settled heavily in his chest. Not painful anymore, just true.

When the laughter finally faded, a softer silence took its place. Neither looking away, neither pretending. And somehow Dean knew this was it. The moment where you either kept dancing around it or told the truth, the real truth. You looked down first, picking absentmindedly at the sleeve of your hoodie. “Do you know what the worst part was?” Dean's smile faded slightly. “What?” You swallowed, the movement small. But he noticed he noticed everything when it came to you. “I kept trying to convince myself I imagined it.” Something tightened painfully inside his chest, you laughed softly though there wasn't much humour in it. “I mean...” Your eyes remained fixed on your hands. “People don't fall for somebody in sixteen hours.” The words came out quieter, more vulnerable. “And every time I started thinking about you, I'd tell myself I was being ridiculous.”

Dean stared at you because Jesus Christ. That was exactly what he'd done, the same conversations, the same arguments, the same attempts to move on. All completely pointless. You looked up, finding him already watching. “I thought there was something wrong with me.” Dean's heart broke because he'd thought that too, every day, every night, every stupid match he'd watched on YouTube instead of sleeping, every party he'd left early, every girl he'd turned down because she wasn't you.

“I know.” The words escaped quietly your expression shifted immediately, confused, hopeful. Like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway. Dean looked down for a second, then laughed. “I thought I was losing my mind.” A smile appeared on your face, small, tentative. Dean kept going because now that he'd started, he couldn't stop. “I kept telling myself to get over it.” Your eyes never left him. “I tried turns out I'm terrible at getting over you." Something flickered across your face. Something emotional enough that Dean instantly wished he'd chosen his words more carefully because your eyes suddenly looked suspiciously bright. and God that nearly killed him. “You watched my matches.” The observation came softly. Not teasing this time Dean smiled. “Yeah.” “All of them?” “Most of them.” A pause. “Okay all of them.” That earned a watery laugh, the kind that made Dean want to reach for you. Not because he wanted anything just because he hated seeing you upset the realization hit him like a freight train because there it was. The thing he'd been avoiding naming. The thing he'd spent two weeks trying not to examine too closely, this wasn't a crush, wasn't infatuation, wasn't some weird obsession. He cared. Deeply. Terrifyingly and suddenly saying it felt less frightening than not saying it.

Dean looked at you, really looked at you. At the woman who had somehow managed to rearrange his entire life in less than a day and before he could lose his nerve he spoke. “I think I'm in love with you.” The room went silent, immediately. Your breath caught and Dean's stomach dropped. There it was, too much, too fast.

Then your hand found his, warm, certain, real. Dean looked down, then back up and found tears gathering in your eyes, not sad tears. Something else, something infinitely more dangerous. “You idiot.” The words broke apart halfway through a laugh. A tear slipping free, Dean felt his own eyes sting, embarrassing, absolutely humiliating. He blamed the six-hour drive and sleep deprivation and probably climate change. “I know.” “You absolute idiot.” “I know.” A smile spread across your face, beautiful, wobbly. Perfect. And suddenly you were crying and laughing at the same time. Which somehow made him laugh too because of course this was how it happened. Of course. Sixteen hours. Two weeks. A six-hour road trip. And now this.

You squeezed his hand tighter, looking at him like he'd hung the moon. “I love you too.” The words shattered something inside him. Something he'd been carrying around for weeks, fear, doubt. All of it, gone, just gone. For a second neither moved. Neither spoke. Just stared at each other. Taking it in, making sure it was real. Then Dean reached up, brushing a tear from beneath your eye. His thumb lingering against your cheek. Neither of you looking away. The kiss happened naturally. Like it had been waiting for permission, slow, soft. Nothing desperate about it. Just relief and affection and two weeks worth of missing each other poured into something gentle. When you finally pulled apart, Dean rested his forehead against yours. Breathing hard not from the kiss but from the emotion of it. From finally having you back. “I don't want this to be goodbye again.” The words slipped out before he could stop them. Your eyes softened immediately Dean swallowed then forced himself to keep going. “Come back with me.”

A small crease appeared between your brows. “Briar?” He nodded. “I don't mean forever.” His hand tightened around yours. “I just...” The words caught briefly because somehow this felt more vulnerable than saying I love you. “I want more time.” The confession came quietly. “I don't want sixteen hours to be all we get.” For a second you simply looked at him and Dean thought his heart might actually stop.

“Okay.” The relief that flooded through him was immediate, overwhelming, beautiful and when he kissed you again, Dean could only think one thing. Sixteen hours had never stood a chance.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The entire drive to Briar, Dean couldn't stop smiling. It was becoming a problem, a serious one. Every time he looked over at you, the smile came back. Every time you laughed, it got worse. At one point you'd caught him doing it three times in ten minutes. “Okay.”

Dean glanced over from the driver's seat. You were sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. Looking entirely too cute for somebody who'd spent the last half hour making fun of his music taste. “What?” “The smiling.” His grin immediately widened. “What about it?” “There it is again.” Dean laughed, unable to help himself. “I don't know what you're talking about.” “You absolutely do.” You pointed at him accusingly. “Every time you look at me.” Dean looked at you, then immediately smiled again. The sound that left your mouth was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Oh my God.” “What?” “You're ridiculous.” The words should've offended him, instead they made him happier. Which was probably concerning. “You love me.” Your cheeks immediately turned pink. Dean felt unreasonably proud of himself, for exactly two seconds. Then you rolled your eyes. “Don't let it go to your head.” “Too late.” The smile you tried to hide nearly killed him.

By the time Briar came into view, Dean's excitement had become impossible to ignore. Not nervousness, excitement, pure excitement because for the first time since meeting you, his worlds were finally colliding. You knew Hannah, you knew Maya, you knew wrestling, you knew him but now you were going to know everything else. The house, the boys, the people who'd spent years shaping who he was. And yes you met them at your match and yes you had been to the house. But not properly, not like this. Not as his girl. And maybe that shouldn't have mattered so much but it did.

Dean pulled into the driveway, the familiar house coming into view. Immediately his stomach flipped which was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous, he'd lived here for years. Yet somehow bringing you here felt bigger than any hockey game he'd ever played. “Why do you look nervous?” Dean looked over. You were watching him now, a knowing smile tugging at your mouth. “I'm not nervous.” “You are.” “I'm not.” “You absolutely are.” Dean scoffed, offended, deeply offended, you laughed then reached across the centre console. Taking his hand, just like that. The movement was so natural it nearly stopped his heart. Your fingers threaded through his, warm, comfortable, familiar and suddenly all the nerves disappeared, just gone. “You know they have already me, I have the seal of approval, right?” Dean stared at your joined hands. Then up at you and for a second he couldn't speak because somehow you'd completely misunderstood. Again. Not in a bad way. Just, you. “They're not who I'm worried about.”

Your expression softened immediately. Understanding flickering across your face. “Oh.” Because the truth was embarrassingly simple. He wanted this to go well, wanted you to like them, wanted you to like being here, wanted you to want to come back. The realization hit him hard enough that he almost laughed. Because God. He was gone, completely. You squeezed his hand, just once. The gesture somehow saying everything, then smiled. That smile the one that had ruined his life. “Come on.” Dean blinked. “What?” You unbuckled your seatbelt and before he knew it you were already reaching for the door. “I want to meet them properly.” Dean couldn't help it, the smile appeared again, instantly, hopelessly. “Dean.” “What?” “Stop looking at me like that.” His grin widened. “What way?” “The way.” Dean climbed out of the car. Still smiling. Still completely doomed. “Can't help it.” You shook your head. Laughing softly as you walked around the front of the vehicle. And then without thinking Dean reached for your hand, not because he needed to, not because he was nervous, not because he was trying to prove anything. Because it felt right, because somewhere along the way it had become his favourite thing to do. Your fingers slipped into his immediately, no hesitation, no thought. Like they belonged there, together. Dean looked down at your joined hands. Then up at the house, the house where he'd spent years bringing girls home without thinking twice. The house where nothing had ever really mattered before and suddenly this felt completely different. Because for the first time, he wasn't bringing someone home. He was bringing home the person. The realization hit him so hard he nearly stopped walking. You glanced over immediately suspicious.

“What now?” Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Nothing.” “Liar.” “Maybe.”

The front door of the house came into view, voices already drifting through from inside, loud, chaotic, familiar, home. Dean looked at you one last time, at the girl he'd somehow fallen in love with in sixteen hours, at the girl who had somehow fallen right back. Then leaned down pressing a quick kiss against your forehead. The smile that spread across your face was worth every second of the last month, every mile, every misunderstanding, every sleepless night. “Ready?” You smiled, warm beautiful, happy. “Ready.” And together, hand in hand, you stepped through the front door.

The moment the front door opened, chaos hit immediately, not actual chaos. Just the usual Briar house version of it. Somebody was yelling from the kitchen, the television was on, music was playing somewhere upstairs. A hockey stick was inexplicably leaning against the staircase. Home. Dean barely had one foot through the doorway before a voice called out. “About fucking time.” You laughed instantly because of course it was Logan. Dean rolled his eyes. “Hello to you too.” “I'm serious.” Logan appeared around the corner holding a bottle of water. Then he spotted you and froze immediately. The grin that spread across his face was immediate. “Oh my God.”

You pointed. “That's exactly what Maya said.” “I knew it.” Logan ignored you completely, looking straight at Dean. “I knew she was really like this” Dean groaned, already. “We're starting with this?” “Brother, you were acting like a man who hallucinated a woman.” You burst out laughing while Dean contemplated murder. The sound of your laughter apparently attracted more people because suddenly Garrett appeared, then Tucker. Both stopping when they spotted you and unlike Logan Garrett's face immediately softened. “Oh thank God.”

You laughed. “What is with everybody saying that?” Garrett pointed directly at Dean. “That.” Dean closed his eyes. “You guys suck.” “No.” Tucker spoke up. “We suffered.” “We absolutely suffered.” Garrett nodded. “He watched your matches.” Dean pointed. “No. Shut the fuck up” “Oh we're doing this.” “Garrett.” “He watched them in the living room.” “Garrett.” “He watched them in the kitchen.” “Garrett.” “He watched one on his phone during a team meeting.”

The room exploded. You doubled over laughing, Logan nearly choked, Tucker physically stumbled backwards. And Dean? Dean wanted the floor to open up and consume him. “That's not true." “It absolutely is.” “You don't have proof.” Garrett looked offended. “You sent me the link.” “Oh my God.” Your face had gone pink from laughing, actually pink. Tears gathering in your eyes and somehow Dean couldn't even be annoyed. Because seeing you laugh like that was worth the humiliation, mostly.

Then something happened, something small, something Dean almost missed. Garrett walked over and pulled you into a hug. A genuine one, warm, affectionate. No hesitation. Like you'd been friends for years. Not weeks. “Good to see you again.” Your smile softened immediately. “You too.” And suddenly Dean realized something. Nobody was being polite. Nobody was doing this because you were his girlfriend. They genuinely liked you. The realization settled somewhere deep in his chest, warm, comforting, dangerously emotional.

"Okay." Tucker pointed between the two of you, business mode. “We have questions.” Dean groaned. “No.” “We do.” “You don't.” “We absolutely do.” Logan nodded. “Many.” “Several.” “A concerning amount.”

You looked delighted, which was unfortunate because it meant Dean had lost control of the situation immediately. “When did this happen?” Tucker asked. “When did you get together?” “Who said I love you first?” “Oh that's a good one.” “It is a good one.”

Dean rubbed a hand over his face already exhausted. You were laughing beside him. Traitor. Absolute traitor. Then Tucker looked at you, eyes narrowing. “Wait.” Oh no. Dean knew that face. That was Tucker discovering something, dangerous. “Wait.” “Tucker.” “Did he cry?” The room went silent. Dean froze. You froze. Logan froze. Garrett froze.

Then your smile grew. Slowly. Beautifully. Horrifically. Dean's soul left his body. “Oh my God.” The boys exploded, absolutely exploded. Tucker screamed, Logan physically fell onto the couch, Garrett bent in half laughing. “You cried?” “You cried?” “DEAN CRIED?”

Dean was never speaking again. Never. Not once. Not ever. Then through the chaos he felt your hand slip into his, warm, comforting, automatic. The noise faded for a second, just a second. Long enough for him to glance down. Then back at you. You were still smiling. Still laughing. Still looking happier than he'd ever seen you and suddenly Dean didn't care that he was getting roasted, didn't care that Logan was screaming, didn't care that Tucker had started victory laps around the kitchen because you were here. Standing in his house, holding his hand, looking like you belonged and for the first time since meeting you, that feeling settled completely. No fear. No distance. No uncertainty, jJust certainty. Home had somehow gotten a whole lot better.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The house party started accidentally, at least that's what everybody claimed. One minute there were five people in the living room. The next there were twenty, then thirty, then somehow music was playing. People were drifting between rooms and somebody had ordered pizza. Dean wasn't entirely sure how it had happened. He just knew you were curled up against his side on the couch and honestly that was all he really cared about.

You'd changed into one of his hoodies at some point. A decision Dean was finding increasingly difficult to be normal about. Mostly because the sleeves swallowed your hands. Mostly because it smelled like him. Mostly because every few minutes he'd look over and remember you were actually here, not visiting, not disappearing, here.

“You've smiled at her six times in the last minute.”

Dean looked up immediately finding Logan standing behind the couch holding a beer looking disgusted. Dean flipped him off without hesitation. Logan nodded. “Seven.” You laughed into Dean's shoulder, the vibration nearly killed him. “Leave him alone.” Logan looked personally offended. “You don't understand.” He pointed at Dean. “This guy used to make fun of Garrett.” Garrett looked up from the floor. “Constantly.” “Relentlessly.” “Every day.” You turned towards Dean eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Oh?” Dean sighed already losing. “What?” “You made fun of Garrett?” Garrett immediately sat forward. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” Dean hated everybody. Immediately.

Twenty minutes later the party had spread throughout the entire house. People filled every room, music echoed from upstairs, someone was arguing over a hockey game, someone else was attempting to teach Maya beer pong. It wasn't going well and through all of it Dean found himself watching you, again, and again, and again because apparently that was just his life now.

You were sitting cross-legged on the couch talking to Hannah. Completely engrossed in whatever conversation the two of you were having. Laughing, gesturing dramatically, happy. The sight hit him harder than expected because for so long he'd pictured what this might look like. You fitting into his life, his friends, his home and somehow reality was better. Much better.

“You should probably stop staring.” Dean jumped. Garrett dropped onto the couch beside him, grinning. “I wasn't staring.” “You absolutely were.” Dean looked away afatal mistake because Garrett followed his gaze straight to you then immediately laughed “Oh, you're gone.” Dean groaned “Please stop saying that.” “No.” Garrett looked delighted, actually delighted. “I've known you for years.” “Unfortunately.” “I've never seen you like this.” The teasing was still there but quieter now, more genuine. Dean glanced back towards you without thinking and Garrett caught it. “See?” Dean rolled his eyes. “I get it.” “No.” Garrett smiled. “You really don't.”

For a moment neither spoke. Just watched the room around them. The people, the laughter, the chaos. Then Garrett nudged his shoulder lightly. “You look happy.” The words landed harder than expected Dean looked across the room. Finding you instantly like always. You were laughing at something Hannah had said, head tipped back, eyes bright, completely unaware he was watching. A smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it, before he could hide it before he could pretend. “Yeah.” The answer came quietly. Honest, simple, yeah, he was.

Across the room your eyes found his like you could somehow feel him looking. The smile on your face softened, just slightly. Something warmer replacing it, something that made his stomach flip like an idiot. Then you held your hand out towards him. Not dramatic, not a big gesture, just an invitation, come here. Dean was moving before he even thought about it. Garrett immediately started laughing. “Oh my God.”

Dean ignored him entirely crossing the room until he reached you. Your fingers instantly slipping through his, natural, easy, like they'd done it a thousand times before. “Hi.” You smiled, the kind that made everything else disappear. “Hi.” Dean crouched beside your chair one arm draping across your knees. Completely unconcerned with how ridiculous he looked because honestly? You looked at him like he was your favourite person in the world and suddenly pride became impossible.

Behind him, Tucker appeared, stared at the two of you for approximately three seconds then immediately turned around “Nope.” The room laughed Dean looked up confused. “What?” Tucker pointed dramatically, “This is disgusting.” You burst out laughing Dean felt your hand slide into his hair. Absentminded, affectionate, without even thinking about it. The room went silent. Dean looked around and everyone was staring, every single person. Horrified.

“Oh he's finished.” Logan sounded devastated. Absolutely devastated. “Look at him.” “He's gone.” “He's never coming back.” “You killed him.” You laughed so hard you nearly fell out of the chair Dean simply rested his head against your knee. Perfectly content. Not even slightly ashamed and judging by the groans echoing around the room? That somehow made it worse. Much worse. The best part? For the first time in weeks, months, maybe ever. Dean didn't care, not even a little because you were here you were happy and every single person in the room could see exactly how much he loved you. Including you.

The party carried on around you, people moved between rooms, music drifted through the house, someone was losing badly at beer pong in the kitchen, someone else was attempting to sing. Badly. Very badly, the usual Briar chao and somehow, despite the number of people packed into the house, you'd never felt more comfortable. Maybe because Dean was beside you, maybe because Hannah was here, maybe because everybody had welcomed you like you'd always belonged. Whatever the reason, it felt easy, natural. Like slipping into a life you'd somehow already imagined.

Dean eventually disappeared upstairs something about grabbing a hoodie he'd left in his room or finding his charger or some equally terrible excuse. You couldn't remember mostly because you'd been distracted watching him leave. Which unfortunately had not gone unnoticed. “Jesus Christ.” You looked up. Garrett was staring at you, looking horrified. “What?” “You watched him walk upstairs.” Heat immediately flooded your face. “No I didn't." “You absolutely did.” Across the room Tucker pointed. “She did.” “She tracked him.” “Like a hawk.” You buried your face in your hands and the entire room erupted into laughter. “You guys are awful.” “No.” Logan dropped onto the arm of the couch looking entirely too pleased with himself. “We're just witnessing something historic.” You narrowed your eyes. “What?” “Dean being normal.”

The room immediately laughed even Hannah, especially Hannah. You looked around, confused. “What does that mean?” The reaction was immediate, three grown men looked at one another. Then burst out laughing. “Oh sweetheart." Tucker physically wiped a tear from his eye. “You have no idea.” “No.” Garrett shook his head. “None.” Now you were intrigued, dangerously intrigued. You pointed. “Explain.” The boys immediately sat up like children preparing to tell embarrassing stories. The look on Hannah's face suggested she was enjoying this far too much. “You know how he seems all charming?” Logan started. You nodded, “Yeah.” “That's because he is.” You smiled a little because yes that sounded accurate. Then Logan continued. “But he's also an idiot.” Your laugh escaped immediately, across the room Garrett pointed dramatically. “Freshman year.” “Oh no.” “Oh yes.” Tucker sat forward, immediately invested. “The fake cast.” You blinked. “The what?” “Oh my God.” “Not the cast.” “We have to tell her.”

You looked around, completely lost. “What cast?” Garrett was already laughing too hard to speak. Which somehow made it worse. Finally Hannah took pity on you. “Dean once pretended to have a wrist injury because he thought it would get him sympathy.” Your jaw dropped. “What?” The boys were practically dying. “That's not even the worst part.” “There are worse parts?” “He forgot which wrist was injured.” The room collapsed absolutely collapsed. You physically doubled over laughing Dean chose that exact moment to walk back downstairs of course he did. The timing was horrific, he stopped halfway down the staircase, immediately suspicious. “What happened?”

The room got louder instantly. You pointed at him unable to speak through your laughter. Dean looked concerned, then annoyed, then deeply concerned. “Hannah.” “No.” “Hannah.” “No.” His eyes narrowed, slowly. “What did you tell her?”

Ten minutes later Dean had been forced into listening to every embarrassing story they'd collected over the years, every one. The fake cast, the disastrous haircut, the time he'd accidentally locked himself outside, twice, on the same day. The stories never stopped and the more you laughed, the more Dean wanted to disappear. Unfortunately. The more embarrassed he got. The harder you laughed.

At some point your head ended up resting against his shoulder, neither of you really noticed it just happened, natural, easy, comfortable. Like everything else. Dean was grumbling about being bullied. You were smiling into his shirt and across the room Garrett suddenly went quiet. You noticed first, then Hannah, then Logan.

Garrett's expression had softened, not dramatically. Just enough. The kind of expression people got when they were looking at something that mattered, something good. You followed his gaze. Realizing he was looking at Dean. Then at you. Then back at Dean. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Dean asked. Garrett shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing.” “That's a lie.” “It is.” The answer came easily, without hesitation. For a moment Garrett just looked at the two of you. Then “I've never seen him this happy.” The room fell quieter. Not silent. Just softer. The joking fading slightly because suddenly nobody was making fun of Dean anymore. Nobody was teasing, they were just being honest. Logan nodded first. “Yeah.” Tucker followed. “Me neither.”

Even Hannah smiled, a small one, knowing, affectionate, like she'd been waiting for this. Waiting for both of you.

You felt Dean shift beside you, his arm sliding around your shoulders, pulling you closer. Not because he was uncomfortable but because he wanted to because apparently touching you had become his favourite hobby. The realization made your chest ache in the best possible way.

And sitting there in the middle of the chaos surrounded by the people who knew him best the people who loved him most. Listening to them talk about the man beside you you realized something. You hadn't just fallen in love with Dean. You'd fallen in love with the version of him they'd spent years describing. The loyal one, the ridiculous one, the annoying one, the one who loved too much, the one who cared too deeply. The one currently resting his cheek against the top of your head like he couldn't bear to be any further away. And somehow that realization made you love him even more, which felt frankly unfair because you were already completely gone.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The party had started thinning out around midnight people were leaving in groups. The music had gotten quieter, the kitchen was a disaster. Someone had somehow spilled chips across half the living room. Nobody knew who, nobody wanted to know. It felt like the end of a really good night. The kind nobody wanted to admit was ending. You were standing in the kitchen filling a glass of water when you heard footsteps behind you. Soft. Familiar. Not Dean.

You smiled before you even turned around. “Hannah.” She leaned against the counter beside you a tired smile already on her face, the kind that came after hours of laughing. “Hey.” “Hey.” For a moment neither of you spoke, just comfortable silence. The kind only family could manage.

Then Hannah glanced toward the living room, you followed her gaze automatically. Dean was stretched across one of the couches. Half listening to something Logan was saying and half scrolling through his phone, looking completely relaxed. Completely happy, at home. The sight made something warm settle in your chest.

Hannah noticed immediately. Of course she did. “You look at him exactly the way he looks at you.” Your face heated instantly. “Hannah.” “What?” “Hannah.” “What?” You groaned. “You can’t just say stuff like that to me” “I'm serious.” The teasing faded slightly replaced by something softer. Something more genuine.

You looked back toward Dean unable to stop yourself. “He makes it easy.” The words slipped out before you could catch them, honest simple and true. Hannah smiled, a knowing one. Then she looked down at her glass rolling it between her hands and for the first time all evening she seemed thoughtful. Almost emotional. “You know...” Her voice was quieter now. “I was worried.” The confession surprised you, you frowned. “Worried?”

She nodded slowly, still looking down. “When you left.” Your chest tightened because suddenly you were back there. Back in that horrible morning, back in your car, back driving away. “I know.” The words came softly. Full of guilt, still, even now. Hannah shook her head. “No.” Her eyes finally lifted meeting yours. “Not about me.” That caught you off guard. “What?”

A small laugh escaped her not because it was funny because she couldn't quite believe it herself. “I wasn't worried about me.” You blinked. Hannah smiled sadly. “I was worried about him.”

The words hit harder than expected because somehow you'd never considered that. Not really. Hannah looked toward the living room again. Toward Dean and suddenly she wasn't looking at your boyfriend. She was looking at someone she'd known for ages, someone she cared about, someone she'd watched fall apart. “I've never seen him like that.”

Your throat tightened. “Hannah...” “No.” She shook her head. “He tried really hard to hide it.” A laugh escaped her. “He was terrible at it.” You smiled despite yourself, that sounded like Dean.

“He stopped going out.” The words came quietly. “He stopped flirting.” You nearly laughed that wasn’t like him at all. Hannah pointed “Exactly.” “Sorry.” “You should be.” The smile returned briefly then faded again. “He watched every match.” Your chest hurt. “He talked about you constantly.” It hurt more. “Every conversation somehow ended up back with you.” You looked away unable to stop the tears gathering in your eyes because God you'd missed him but hearing he'd missed you too somehow made it worse, better but worse.

Hannah nudged your shoulder gently. The same way she always had, the same way she had when you were sixteen and scared and angry and trying to pretend you didn't need anyone. “He scared me a little.” You laughed through the tears. “What?” She smiled. “He was serious.” The answer came immediately, without hesitation, without doubt and somehow that was the thing that got you. Not the matches. Not the road trip. Not the fact he'd come all the way to New York. That. Because Dean was Dean. Funny, flirty, easygoing, the guy who never seemed to take anything seriously. Except you. “He loves you.” The words settled between you, simple, certain like there had never been another possibility.

A tear slipped down your cheek, you wiped it away immediately. Embarrassed. Hannah laughed softly then pulled you into a hug before you could protest. A proper one warm, safe, home. For a moment you just stood there, holding onto each other, the way sisters do. “I'm really happy.” The words came muffled against your shoulder. You smiled. “So am I.”

When Hannah finally pulled back she glanced toward the living room again, then immediately started laughing. You followed her gaze. Dean had apparently noticed you'd disappeared because he was standing up. Looking around, scanning the room, searching.

The second his eyes found you his entire face lit up like a switch had been flipped like he'd found exactly what he'd been looking for. Hannah made a disgusted noise, a dramatic loud one. “Oh that's ridiculous.”

You burst out laughing and as Dean started walking towards you, weaving through the room without taking his eyes off you once, Hannah simply shook her head, smiling. “Told you.”

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Long after the party ended, the house finally fell quiet the music had stopped, the laughter had faded. One by one everybody had disappeared upstairs until the only sounds left were the occasional creak of old floorboards and the distant hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Home settling for the night. You should have been asleep. Honestly the drive, the travel, the emotional rollercoaster of the past month. Any normal person would have been unconscious. Instead you were sitting on the back porch wrapped in a blanket a cigarette balanced between your fingers, watching the stars. The summer air was warm, comfortable. The kind of night that felt endless. The kind you wished you could freeze and keep forever.

The screen door creaked behind you. You smiled before you even turned around. “Hi.” Dean stepped outside, hair messy from running his hands through it all night. One of his old hoodies hanging from his shoulders. Looking tired, happy, comfortable. His smile appeared immediately. Like it always did now every single time he looked at you. You'd noticed. Everybody else had too.

"There you are." The words came softly, like he'd been searching. Maybe he had. You held up the cigarette and his eyes immediately dropped to it. Then he laughed, quietly. “You didn't even wrestle today.” You smiled. “No.” “Then why are you smoking your victory cigarette?” You looked out across the yard, the darkness, the stars, the peaceful silence, then back at him. “Feels like a victory.”

Something changed in Dean's face a small thing, tiny. But you saw it the emotion, the softness, the overwhelming affection. Without a word he crossed the porch sat down beside you. Then immediately pulled you into his lap, like he'd done it a hundred times, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You settled against him easily, comfortably. His arms wrapping around your waist beneath the blanket. Holding you close. Keeping you there.

For a while neither of you spoke. You simply sat together, watching the stars, listening to the quiet. Enjoying the simple fact that you could. Eventually Dean broke the silence. His voice low, thoughtful. “You know what the weirdest part is?” You tilted your head slightly. “What?”

He laughed. The sound soft against your shoulder. “A month ago I didn't know you existed.” Your chest tightened immediately because somehow that thought never stopped being insane. “I know.” “A month ago I was just...” He shrugged searching for words. “Me.” You smiled. “You still are.” “Yeah.” His arms tightened slightly around your waist. “Just happier.” The words settled somewhere deep, warm, comforting, real. You turned slightly just enough to look at him. Really look at him, the man who'd driven six hours to find you, the man who'd watched every match, the man who'd somehow become home in less than sixteen hours.

And suddenly something occurred to you. “What?” Dean laughed immediately. “You've got that face.” “What face?” “The thinking face.” You gasped, offended. “I don't have a thinking face.” “You absolutely do.” You rolled your eyes. Then smiled. “What are you thinking?” Dean asked. The answer came easier than expected. “I'm happy.”

For a second neither of you moved, then Dean smiled. Not the cocky smile. Not the teasing one. Not the one everybody else saw. The real one, the one reserved just for you. “Yeah?” You nodded. “Yeah.” Something flickered in his eyes then, something vulnerable, something honest. The same look he'd worn in New York, the same look he'd worn in the Airbnb, the same look he'd worn every time he'd admitted something real.

His hand found yours beneath the blanket, threading your fingers together. “You know...” His voice softened. “I keep thinking I'm gonna wake up.” Your heart immediately melted “"What?” Dean looked away briefly almost embarrassed. “I don't know.” A small laugh escaped him. “That you'll disappear.” The confession hurt. Not because it was sad but because it was honest. You turned fully in his lap bringing a hand to his cheek. Waiting until his eyes found yours. “I'm not going anywhere.” The words came quietly, certain. Without hesitation. Dean just looked at you like he was committing the moment to memory like he wanted to remember every second, then he kissed you, slowly, gently. Like he had all the time in the world

It was a piercing feminine scream that woke dean up that morning. He had decided to get a somewhat early night turning in at midnight instead of his usual 3am bedtime but the alarm clock glowing 2:38am told him that his early night had been a waste. He listened out for the sign of another scream or a woman in danger and he heard nothing but he was already awake and there was no way that he was going to be able to fall back asleep without checking where the unsettling sound had come from.

He padded barefoot down the hallway of the off campus house heading to the only room that he knew had a girl in, Garrett’s. And of course, when he reached the door another high pitched squeal left the room. What the fuck. Dean carefully reached out and knocked on the door, “Wellsy you alright in there?”, he called out. “oh shit sorry dean I’m fine” Hannah’s voice sent a wave of relief through him. “You two decent?” “yeah come in”

Dean cracked the door open and his was met with the sight of Hannah bouncy on her feet like a child on Christmas morning and Garrett laid in bed an amused smile on his lips. “so… why were we screaming like a murder victim?”, dean enquired the playful glint present in his baby blue’s. “My best friend just text, she is going to be in Massachusetts next week”, Hannah looked like she might explode from joy. “I thought Allie was your best friend” “She is but y/n is different”, Hannah paused for a second trying to think of the best way to describe a friendship that the English dictionary did not have a good enough word for, “she is my Beau, like Garrett, Logan and Tucker are your best friends but Beau is different. y/n is my Beau” Dean actually completely understood what Hannah meant but that. Beau was different to the other guys, yes Dean was close with all the guys on the team but his friendship with Beau was stronger, they have been through so much together that Dean was sure they could take on the world. “Then why have I never seen her before, how come she doesn’t visit? She living some cushty life in Indianna?”, Dean was feeling a little betrayed if Hannah knew a girl that was good enough to compare to Beau than how dare she never introduce him to her. “Complete opposite actually”, Garrett finally decided to join the conversation. “Wait so he gets to know about the mysterious y/n but I don’t” “I am her boyfriend idiot”, Garrett shot back but his words had no bite, they never did. “y/n tours the world”, Hannah continued choosing to ignore the bickering between the men, “well mostly America” “She some pop star or something?” Dean interrupted not expecting the laugh that bubbled from Hannah’s lips. “She would hate that you assumed that, y/n is a professional wrestler, she works with an indie company and goes from city to city performing” “you are friends with a girl John Cena” This time it was Garrett’s time to laugh, “you are so stupid bro” “y/n was a gymnast in high school but she hated school, she didn’t really get education so when she got scouted for pro wrestling she practically flipped onto the plane” “so this girl is coming here?”, dean quizzed “yup and we are going to her show, it is a non negotiable”, dean knew better than to argue with hannah especially when garrett was right there, “the entire house is going including you, so cancel whatever girl you have coming to house. “yes boss” “now leave so we can actually sleep”, Garrett spoke “Your girlfriend is the one that woke me up”, Dean rolled his eyes walking back to the door. “Oh and dean?”, Hannah called out behind the man. “Wellsy” “y/n is off limits don’t you dare” Dean just nodded before shutting the door behind him. Walking back towards his own bedroom. Once in bed he tried to get to sleep but his mind kept on wandering back to thoughts of you and why Hannah felt the need to warn him off. There was no way in hell that a professional wrestler would be his type.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The wrestling gym warmed your soul, a heavy contract to the Boston weather that had been in your bones ever since your plane landed four hours ago. You were helping to set up, making sure the ropes were tight and the mat was in the right place for some of the more adventurous spots that people on the card had planned that night. “So I heard you have quite a few people coming to see you tonight”, Maya, your opponent and closest friend in the business spoke a sparkle in her eyes. The people you worked with were not used to you requesting family and friends tickets unless you were in Indiana and Hannah’s parents wanted to see you. Otherwise you never had anyone that actually knew you in your corner, that was part of the reason why you had mastered your charm, you needed to get the audience on side from first impressions along without the help of anyone else sat in the crowd. “Well I was just expecting my best friend, Hannah to come out but turns out her boyfriend is the captain of Briar’s hockey team and he brought tickets for everyone” Maya actually cackled at this news, “you, y/n y/ln have a whole hockey team in your corner tonight” “I don’t know they might meet me realise that I’m nothing like them and hate, then you’ll have a whole hockey team rooting for you tonight”, you jested a smiling bright but it didn’t quite meet your eyes. Meeting new people had always been a bit of a challenge for you, you never really knew what to do like yes you could hold small talk and you could definitely make someone laugh with your sass but the idea of anyone wanting to get to know you on a deeper level than that made your fight or flight kick in and usually you ran for the hills. “girl we have run through these spots so many times before, we’ve got this”, Maya reminded you running a hand through her blonde hair. That was one thing Maya had in common with Hannah both women could ground you exactly how you needed to be grounded, they could stop your mind from running off to what if conclusions and that was the most important thing to you. After your own upbringing you needed people to stay and both Hannah and Maya would never leave you. You checked the tension on the rope one more time before turning to Maya, “I am going to go get in my ring gear because I just know Hannah is gonna be early” “good thinking girl, if your best friend is bringing a whole hockey team we better look good”, maya whistled making you roll your eyes. You were not interested in dating anyone right now, let alone someone that played hockey.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

“WELLSY WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WEAR TO A WRESTLING MATCH” “clothes are good”, Logan patted Dean on his back “well done smartass” Dean rolled his eyes as Hannah walked down into the living room. “It is usually a pretty casual thing what you are wearing is fine”, dean looked down at his khaki sweater and wide leg jean combo for some reason it didn’t feel right. But Hannah was the expert at this, and he would do whatever she said, within reason. “What kind of thing do people wear to wrestle”, Tucker questioned. The world of professional wrestling was a complete mystery to most of the guys in the off campus house, they knew of the greats that had made it through to mainstream media but that was pretty much it. “She’ll be in what they call gear, knowing y/n there will be studs, buckles andmaybe a little bit of pink” “Pink?”, Dean was under the impression that wrestling was a more masculine sport, he was expecting y/n to have wider shoulders than him and be able to tackle him on the ice, so the idea of some feminity took him by surprise. “oh yeah it is y/n’s favourite colour, we dyed her hair bright pink the last year of high school, my mom was pissed”, Hannah laughed at the memory. “your mom?” Tucker questioned obviously confused. “y/n is technically a Wells, she uses her dad’s last name for work reason but my parents are her legal guardians have been since we were teenagers, not my story to tell but she is basically my sister” “Your Beau”, Dean repeated under his breath so no one could hear. He was beginning to get an idea of the kind of girl you were and he was liking every single thing he was hearing- “remember boys, y/n is off limits I swear to God if any of you break that promise”, Hannah spoke waggling her finger, she was about as menacing as a chihuahua but Dean respected Hannah so he was going to listen to her. Yes he was a bit promiscuous but he could have any girl he wanted he didn’t need to go for Hannah’s best friend, there were at least 5 girls in his phone that he could spend that night with. “y/n just text”, Hannah squealed obviously excited, “she is ready whenever we are so please please please can we go”, she psoke puppy eyes aimed at Garrett. “You heard the lady”, Garrett gave in ushering everyone to the door. Dean didn’t know what to expect from his first pro wrestling show but something told him it was going to be special.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

There it was again that high pitched feminine squeal that had woke Dean a week prior. He was hearing it all over again as Hannah beelined into the building as soon as Garrett parked the car. “wow wellsy really thinks a lot of this girl” “I think she would trade me for an extra week with y/n”, Garrett jested as the boys slowly walked into the building. As soon as Dean got inside his eyes found you. You were currently being bear hugged by Hannah as she jumped up and down with tears in her eyes but you had the brightest smile on your lips acting although her spider monkey grip did not hurt at all. It was only when Hannah pulled away that Dean got a full look at you in your outfit and it was safe to say that you took his breath away.

It was only when Hannah pulled away that Dean got a full look at you in your outfit, and it was safe to say that you took his breath away. Jesus Christ. The first thing he noticed was the pink. Not the soft, sweet kind. Not the bubblegum princess shade most girls went for. This was hot pink, sharp and unapologetic, flashing beneath silver hardware and black leather every time you moved. A studded black crop top hugged your torso, the neckline edged with metal rivets that caught the overhead lights. Crisscrossing straps wrapped around your waist and shoulders, secured by chunky silver buckles that looked more rockstar than wrestler. A glimpse of glittering pink fabric peeked through the cutouts, just enough colour to stop the outfit from becoming completely dangerous. Low-rise leather shorts sat high on your thighs, covered in silver studs and decorative belts that hung loosely from your hips. More buckles circled one leg, paired with fishnet panels that disappeared beneath knee-high black boots. The boots themselves looked like they weighed a ton, loaded with enough straps and metal detailing to make anyone think twice before getting in your way. The whole thing looked like something straight out of a late-night music video—equal parts fighter and rockstar. And somehow, you pulled it off effortlessly.

Dean's brain completely short-circuited. Because it wasn't really the outfit. It was you in the outfit. The confidence. The swagger. The way you carried yourself like you knew exactly how many heads turned when you walked into a room and simply didn't care. His eyes traced the silver chains hanging from your hips before flicking back up, catching the smirk playing at your lips.

Well. There went any chance of him acting normal. That's a problem, he thought. Which was funny, because for maybe the first time in his life, Dean wasn't entirely sure he wanted to solve it. “Holy shit” he muttered before he could stop himself. It was Logan that caught the tail end of his whisper and patted Dean on the back, “you’ve gotta remember what hannah said, y/n is off limits man” and dean heard those words, he knew that Logan was right and that he was not going to be able to have you. but damn that didn’t stop him from wanting you.

“Earth to y/n.” Dean blinked as Hannah's voice cut through his thoughts. You were still smiling at your best friend, entirely oblivious to the minor crisis currently taking place inside Dean's head. “What?” you asked. “You haven't actually said hello to anyone else yet.” Your eyes widened dramatically. “Oh my God. Oops now all your friends are going to hate me” Before Dean could react, you were suddenly standing directly in front of him. Up close, you somehow looked even better. Which was deeply unfair. “You must be Dean."” He opened his mouth. Nothing came out. What the fuck was wrong with him? Usually talking to girls was the easy part.

You tilted your head. “Wow. Hannah didn't mention you were the quiet one.” The boys immediately burst out laughing. "Quiet?" Tucker repeated. “Dean?” Logan added. “That's a new one.” A faint blush crept onto Dean's cheeks and he immediately hated himself for it. You looked delighted. “Oh, good. He does speak.” “I speak plenty.” “There he is.” God, you were trouble. The worst part was that you didn't seem to realise it. “Nice to finally meet you” you continued, offering your hand. Dean looked down at it for half a second before shaking it. Your grip was surprisingly firm. Athlete. Of course. “Likewise.” You squinted at him. “Hannah talks about you a lot.” His stomach immediately dropped. “She does?” “Oh yeah.” You nodded seriously. “Mostly complaints.” The boys erupted again. “Okay, now I like her” Garrett announced. “You should hear the stories.” “Please don't.” Dean knew where this was going “One time” Garrett was enjoying this “Nope.” “he accidentally locked himself out of the house wearing nothing but a towel.” Dean groaned. “Oh my God.” Hannah looked far too pleased with herself. “I told you that in confidence.” “You told me that because you thought it was funny.” "It was funny.” “It was January!” You laughed. Actually laughed. Not one of those polite little laughs people gave because they felt obligated. A real one. And Dean hated how much he liked the sound.

“So this is the famous hockey team” you said, looking around the group. “Famous is a strong word.” “Hannah talks about you guys almost as much as she talks about Garrett.” Garrett looked horrified. “Almost?” “Sorry dude.” The grin you shot him was bright enough to light up the entire building. For a second Dean found himself staring. Again. And judging by the look Logan was sending him, he wasn't exactly subtle about it. Thankfully, Hannah interrupted before anyone could call him out. “Okay, enough socialising. y/n has a match to win.” You immediately groaned. “Ugh. Responsibilities.” “Aren't you supposed to be some big scary wrestler?” “I am.” You pointed towards the ring. “For approximately twelve minutes.” Then you pointed at Hannah. “the second I see her I'm emotionally compromised.” “That's true” Hannah agreed. “See? How am I supposed to work in these conditions Dean shook his head. Everything he'd imagined about you over the last week was wrong. You weren't intimidating. You weren't mysterious. You weren't some larger-than-life athlete who took herself too seriously. You were funny. Warm. Effortlessly charming. And somehow that was infinitely worse. Because now he understood exactly why Hannah loved you. And exactly why she had warned him away. The problem was that Dean had never been particularly good at listening.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Dean was halfway through talking to logan about something stupid while hannah explained the main rules of wrestling to tucker and garrett when the lights went down and the bass started "Oh shit.” Hannah had the brightest smile on her lips “That's our girl” The crowd immediately erupted when the song became more recognisible. Dean frowned. ”she haven't even come out yet” “you'd be surprised” Hannah said beside him. A beat later, music blasted through the speakers. Heavy bass, cocky, confident. The kind of song that practically demanded attention. And judging by the reaction from the crowd, everyone in the building knew exactly who it belonged to.

The curtain parted. Dean forgot how to breathe because there you were. One arm raised above your head as pink and white lights flashed around the venue. The smile from backstage was gone, in its place was pure confidence pure attitude. You looked like you owned the building. Hell, you looked like you owned the city. The silver hardware on your gear sparkled beneath the lights while the hot pink accents practically glowed. Every step down the ramp looked deliberate, like you knew every single pair of eyes in the room was locked on you. And they were. Including Dean's. Especially Dean's. “what the fuck” he muttered. You pointed towards a group of fans screaming your name and they immediately lost their minds. Then you climbed onto the apron in one fluid movement. Athlete. That was the first coherent thought Dean managed. Not just athletic you were ridiculously athletic. The ropes barely moved as you stepped between them before climbing onto the middle turnbuckle. Your arms stretched out and the crowd cheered louder. And God help him, you absolutely loved it, he could see it in the way your smile widened the way you soaked up every ounce of attention. Not because you were arrogant but because this was your thing. This ring, this crowd, these people, this was where you belonged. “You see it now, don't you?” Hannah asked quietly. Dean swallowed. “See what?” "The wrestling thing." His eyes never left you. The referee was speaking to you but you were too busy hyping up a section of fans near the barricade. They screamed even louder. Dean found himself smiling. “You know what's annoying?” Garrett said. “What?”

“She's actually that charismatic all the time.” Dean laughed under his breath, yeah, he believed that The music finally faded. You settled into your corner. Across the ring, Maya made her entrance to another huge reaction from the crowd but Dean barely noticed. Because you were stretching against the ropes now, bouncing lightly on your feet. Focused. Ready. And for the first time since he'd met you, you looked completely serious. Something in his chest tightened. The girl who had spent ten minutes making fun of Hannah's driving. The girl who had laughed at his expense five separate times. The girl Hannah called her Beau. She wasn't just some wrestler. She was good at this. Dean could feel it. The crowd could feel it. Hell, even before the bell rang he could tell you were the star of the show and that was a very dangerous realization for a man who was supposed to stay the hell away from you.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The bell finally rang and Dean settled back in his seat, expecting to spend the next ten minutes pretending he understood what was happening. The second you stepped forward, however, he realised that wasn't going to be possible. Everything about you changed the moment the match officially started. The playful woman who had been teasing Hannah backstage only fifteen minutes ago was still there somewhere, Dean could see flashes of her every time that familiar grin crossed your lips, but now there was something else underneath it. A focus. A confidence. A certainty that made it impossible to look away. Across the ring, Maya matched your energy perfectly. The two of you circled each other cautiously at first, neither woman rushing into anything stupid. The crowd had settled into an excited hum around them, everyone seemingly aware that they were about to witness something special. Dean certainly wasn't. Not until you locked up. He had expected professional wrestling to look choreographed. Maybe even awkward, instead it looked difficult, painfully difficult. Muscle strained against muscle as Maya managed to twist your arm behind your back, forcing you down onto one knee. Dean barely had time to register that she had the advantage before you were moving again, rolling forward and using the momentum to slip free before immediately reversing the hold. The crowd cheered. Dean blinked. “What the hell?” Beside him, Hannah laughed. “Good, right?” “She just folded herself in half.” “That's nothing.” Nothing?

Dean looked back towards the ring just in time to watch you spring backwards, narrowly avoiding Maya's next attempt to grab hold of you. Your feet barely seemed to touch the canvas before you were moving again, slipping underneath her arm and popping up behind her with a grin so smug that half the audience immediately started cheering. Dean found himself laughing despite himself. “She's showing off.” “Of course she is” Garrett replied. “Look at her.” Dean didn't need to be told twice. His eyes had barely left you since your music hit. Maya finally managed to catch you with a shoulder tackle that sent you crashing onto the mat and for some reason Dean's stomach dropped. Not because it looked particularly painful. Not because he thought you were hurt. Just because seeing you on the receiving end felt wrong somehow. You, however, looked entirely unbothered. In fact, when Maya flashed a triumphant smile in your direction, you simply rolled your eyes so dramatically that the entire front row burst out laughing. “Oh, she's annoying” Dean realised. Hannah looked delighted. “You have no idea.”

A second later you were back on your feet. Maya charged and you sidestepped at the last possible moment. The blonde crashed chest-first into the turnbuckle and the collective wince that rippled through the building was immediate. Dean barely had time to process what happened before you were moving again. One second you were sprinting. The next you had planted a foot on the middle rope, twisting your body through the air in a movement so fluid it looked almost effortless. For a brief moment you seemed weightless but then you crashed into Maya. The audience exploded. Dean was standing before he even realised he'd moved. “Holy shit.” You immediately popped back to your feet, soaking up the reaction with a grin that could probably be seen from space. The worst part? Dean was beginning to understand why. You weren't just good. You were genuinely incredible. And judging by the way the rest of the crowd was reacting, he was the last person in the building to figure that out.

The energy inside the building only seemed to grow with every passing minute. Dean had never been to a wrestling show before, but even he could tell that the crowd was hanging on your every move now. Every cheer, every laugh, every near miss had them completely invested. And somehow, despite the dozens of people surrounding the ring, it felt impossible to focus on anyone except you. Maya recovered quickly after the aerial attack, catching you by surprise when you rushed forward again. One second you were charging at her with that familiar confidence and the next she had your wrist trapped, using your own momentum against you to launch you across the ring.

Your back hit the mat hard. The sound echoed throughout the building. Dean immediately grimaced. You rolled onto your stomach with a groan that looked entirely genuine and Maya wasted no time capitalising, grabbing hold of your arm and wrenching it backwards. The audience booed. Maya smirked. Dean found himself leaning forward in his seat. "You guys said wrestling was scripted." Garrett laughed beside him. “It is.” “Then why am I stressed?” That earned him a chorus of laughter from the boys. Even Hannah looked smug. “Told you.” Dean rolled his eyes but didn't argue. Because she was right. Somewhere along the line he had become invested. Maybe it was the way you connected with the crowd. Maybe it was the fact that every time things started looking rough you somehow found a way to smile anyway. Or maybe it was because he couldn't remember the last time he'd watched someone doing something they genuinely loved. Whatever the reason, he couldn't stop watching.

Inside the ring Maya had taken control completely now. Every time you tried to build momentum she seemed to have an answer waiting. A kick to the ribs. A forearm across the shoulders. A perfectly timed counter that sent you crashing back down to the mat. The audience groaned collectively. Dean's jaw tightened. "You okay there?" Logan asked. “I'm fine.” “You look mad.” “I'm not mad.” “You are absolutely mad.” Dean ignored him because maybe he was. Not at Maya. At the situation, at the fact that every time you got knocked down he felt something unpleasant twist in his stomach. You pushed yourself up using the ropes, visibly exhausted now. A strand of hair had escaped from where you'd pinned it back and was sticking to the side of your face. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and for the first time all match you looked vulnerable. The crowd noticed too, their cheers became louder more desperate as though they were willing you back into the fight. Dean realised he was doing exactly the same thing. Come on, the thought slipped through his mind before he could stop it. Come on, sweetheart. Get up. As if hearing him, you lifted your head. Maya charged. The crowd gasped but at the last possible second you ducked. Maya's momentum carried her straight into the corner turnbuckle. The entire building exploded. Dean was already on his feet. So was everyone else. The noise became deafening. You stumbled backwards at first, clearly running on instinct and adrenaline, before suddenly finding a second wind. The change was immediate. One clothesline, the crowd roared. A second, even louder. Maya staggered. You hit the ropes and launched yourself forward, taking her off her feet completely. The building nearly came apart. Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd been this invested in something that wasn't hockey. You dropped to one knee in the centre of the ring, chest heaving as thousands of cheers crashed over you from every direction. And then you smiled, not the confident grin from your entrance, not the teasing smile you'd aimed at him backstage. This one was different, raw, happy, like you were having the time of your life. Something in Dean's chest tightened. Because suddenly he understood. This wasn't a hobby. This wasn't some weird little side job. This was your dream. And watching you live it was somehow more attractive than anything else he'd seen all night. The entire building was on its feet now. Every person in the crowd was screaming your name. Every single one of them willing you forward, including him. Across the ring, Maya was beginning to look frustrated. You kept finding ways back into the fight. Every time she thought she'd put you down, you somehow got back up again. A forearm connected with your jaw. You fired one straight back. The crowd roared, another, then another., neither woman willing to back down. Dean winced every time one of you connected. “Holy shit” he muttered. “They're laying it in tonight” Garrett agreed. Neither of them took their eyes off the ring. Maya finally gained the advantage, catching you with a kick that folded you over before lifting you onto her shoulders. The audience collectively gasped. Dean's stomach dropped. You looked exhausted. Your movements slower than they had been at the start of the match, Maya knew it too. The confident smile on her face made that painfully obvious. She adjusted her grip., preparing to finish things.

Around Dean, the crowd began protesting immediately. “No, no, no” Hannah whispered. Dean didn't even realise he was shaking his head until Logan elbowed him. "Relax." "I am relaxed." "You look like you're about to jump the barricade." Dean ignored him because Maya was moving and for one horrible second he genuinely thought it was over. Then somehow you slipped free, the crowd erupted. Dean shouted something completely incoherent. Your feet hit the canvas. Maya spun around. You caught her with a superkick and the sound echoed throughout the building. Maya dropped, the reaction was deafening. “OH MY GOD!” Hannah screamed beside him. You looked just as surprised as everyone else. Clearly running on instinct now. Pure adrenaline. Pure determination. The audience sensed it too. Every person in the building was behind you, Dean had never witnessed anything like it. A few minutes ago these people had been strangers, now they were chanting your name, believing in you, loving you and somehow Dean understood exactly why.

You pushed yourself back to your feet, the exhaustion was obvious. Your chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat glistening beneath the bright lights. Yet the second Maya began getting up, that familiar spark returned to your eyes. The one Dean had noticed backstage. The one that usually appeared right before you said something sarcastic. Only this time there was no joke coming. This time there was purpose and the crowd recognised it immediately. The noise doubled. No it tripled. Until Dean could barely hear himself think. You sprinted while Maya staggered forwards. And suddenly you were airborne, For one brief second you seemed suspended in midair, weightless. Then you crashed into Maya and the impact shook the ring. The referee dropped instantly. One. The crowd counted with him. Two. Dean stopped breathing. Three. The bell rang and for a moment the entire building exploded. People screaming. Cheering. Jumping to their feet.

Dean had attended national championships that hadn't felt this loud. And in the middle of it all was you flat on your back absolutely exhausted but victorious. A grin slowly spread across your face as the referee lifted your hand. The reaction somehow grew even louder. Dean found himself smiling before he could stop it. Not because he'd won. Not because he'd been entertained. Because you looked happy, the kind of happy that couldn't be faked. The kind of happy that came from achieving something you'd worked your entire life for. You climbed onto the second turnbuckle and raised your arms. Dean watched as your eyes scanned the audience. Watching all the people cheering for you.

Then suddenly you spotted Hannah and a bright laugh escaped you. the serious competitor disappeared instantly, you pointed towards your best friend. Hannah screamed even louder. And just like that, the larger than life wrestler became the same woman who had spent ten minutes roasting Dean backstage. It should have broken the spell, it should have made you seem more normal but instead it somehow made everything worse because now Dean knew the truth you weren't pretending to be two different people. The performer. The athlete. The woman laughing with her family. They were all you. And unfortunately for him, he was attracted to every single version.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The crowd was still chanting your name when you disappeared behind the curtain. Dean could hear it echoing through the building as the boys followed Hannah towards the backstage area. Normally after a game Dean loved the rush of adrenaline that came with a win, the celebration, the excitement, the feeling that for a few hours the entire world was exactly how it should be. Apparently wrestlers experienced the same thing. Because the second he spotted you again, he knew you were still riding that high. You were perched on top of a black production crate outside the locker rooms, a water bottle dangling loosely from your fingers as you swung your legs back and forth. Your match was over. The crowd was gone. The lights and music had stopped, yet somehow you looked happier than you had in the ring. A grin stretched across your face as you stared blankly at the wall opposite you. Not talking. Not moving. Just smiling. Dean couldn't help but laugh. “What is she doing?” Hannah glanced over. Immediately she started laughing too. “Oh no.” “What?” “She's still in wrestling brain.” Almost as if you'd heard your cue, your head snapped towards the group. The smile somehow widened. “I won.” Garrett barked out a laugh. “Yeah, superstar. We know.” “No but I won.” Dean bit the inside of his cheek. You sounded genuinely amazed by the concept. “you literally knew you were winning.” “I know.” You pointed at Garrett dramatically. “And it still worked.” The entire group dissolved into laughter.

Maya chose that moment to emerge from the locker room, her damp hair hanging around her shoulders as she shook her head fondly. “She's been like this for ten minutes.” “I had a really good match.” “You've said that seventeen times.” “Because I had a really good match.” Maya rolled her eyes. Dean found himself smiling. It was ridiculous how easy it was around you, the excitement practically radiated from your body. There wasn't an ounce of self-consciousness about it either. You were happy and everyone in the vicinity was simply going to have to deal with it. Then your eyes landed on him, the smile softened slightly. Not disappearing. Just changing. “Dean.” Something unpleasantly warm settled in his chest. God. The way you said his name it was like you were genuinely pleased to see him. “y/n” You immediately straightened. “You saw the moonsault.” It wasn't a question. Dean laughed. “I did.” “And?” The anticipation on your face was almost painful. You looked like a kid waiting to open Christmas presents. Dean shook his head, “I nearly had a heart attack.” Your laugh echoed through the hallway. “That's the correct reaction.” “You launched yourself through the air.” “I know.” “You could have died.” “I absolutely could not have died.” “You don't know that.” You pointed at him. “See, this is why wrestling fans are superior.” “Because you're all insane?” “Exactly.” The smile that spread across your face nearly knocked the breath out of him. Because for a second there was nobody else, no Garrett, no Hannah, no hockey team, no bustling locker room. Just you looking at him like he'd said something worth hearing.

“she likes you.” Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. Logan's voice had appeared directly beside him. “What?” Logan nodded towards you. “She likes you.” “You've known her for twenty minutes.” “And?” Dean looked back towards you. Unfortunately, Logan wasn't helping because now he couldn't stop noticing every time your attention drifted back to him. Every time your eyes searched him out amongst the group, every time that smile appeared. “Shut up.” Logan just grinned. Coward. Before Dean could formulate a response, Hannah clapped her hands together. “Okay.” Everybody looked towards her. “You smell.” You gasped. “I do not.” “You absolutely do.” “You smell.” “I shower regularly.” “You literally wrestled another woman.” “She smells too.” Maya raised a hand. “Can confirm.” Garrett laughed hard enough that Hannah had to lean against him. “Go shower.” You groaned dramatically. “Fine.” Sliding off the crate, you began backing towards the locker room. Then you paused. Your gaze finding Dean again and God help him, that smile returned, the one that seemed to do strange things to his pulse. “You better still be here when I get back.” Dean blinked. “What?” “I need somebody else to tell me how awesome I am.” The hallway erupted, Logan doubled over laughing, tucker immediately started making kissy noises. Even Garrett looked amused. You, meanwhile, looked completely serious. Waiting for an answer. Dean felt heat crawl up the back of his neck. “I think I can manage that.” Your grin widened triumphantly “Perfect.” Then, with one final wink, you disappeared into the locker room. The door swung shut behind you. Dean stared at it, still staring several seconds later. “Buddy.” Garrett sounded concerned. “Huh?” “You've got it bad.” The worst part? Dean wasn't even sure Garrett was wrong.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The boys had barely been back at the house for twenty minutes before the front door opened. Dean wasn't paying attention at first. He was midway through explaining why your moonsault had violated several laws of physics when Hannah suddenly sat upright. "She's here." Immediately Dean looked towards the door and immediately Dean's brain stopped working. Because the woman who stepped into the house looked absolutely nothing like the wrestler he'd watched earlier. The leather was gone. The studs. The chains. The attitude. In their place was an oversized pink sweatshirt that disappeared over the waistband of a tiny white tennis skirt, leaving only the bare length of your legs visible beneath it. Your hair was still slightly damp from your shower, falling freely around your shoulders. A pair of white trainers covered your feet. There was no dramatic entrance music no spotlight no crowd screaming your name, just you. And somehow that was worse far worse. “Hiya” You immediately dropped your overnight bag beside the door. Hannah launched herself off the couch, the collision nearly took both women to the floor. Dean barely noticed because all he could think was that a few hours ago you'd looked like a rockstar. Now you looked like the kind of girl somebody married, dangerous, very dangerous. “Why are you staring at me?” Dean blinked, everyone was looking at him, including you. Shit. “I wasn't.” “You absolutely were.” Your grin widened. Dean considered throwing himself through the nearest window. “Leave him alone” Garrett laughed. “No.” “y/n.” “No.” The mischievous sparkle in your eyes made his situation approximately one thousand times worse. Because apparently the universe had decided that being gorgeous wasn't enough. You had to be funny too. Dean was so unbelievably screwed.

Dean was sitting at the table ten minutes later when you wandered into the kitchen. Not because he was thirsty. Not because he was hungry. Mostly because he was trying to avoid sitting directly beside you, which was proving surprisingly difficult. The second you'd arrived at the house, you'd somehow become the centre of gravity. Everyone gravitated towards you, including him. Especially him. The sound of cupboard doors opening pulled his attention from his phone. You were standing on your tiptoes trying to reach something on the top shelf. Dean watched for approximately three seconds before sighing. “You're a wrestler.” You glanced over your shoulder. “So I've been told.” “You can do backflips.” “Correct.” “You can throw grown adults around.” “Also correct.” “Yet you can't reach a cereal box.” Your eyes narrowed. “The shelf is tall.” “The shelf is normal sized.” “The shelf is an asshole.”

Dean laughed despite himself, the sound seemed to surprise you, your smile immediately widened. Dangerous. Very dangerous. Before you could attempt another jump, Dean pushed himself off the counter and reached above your head. The cereal box was suddenly within reach. Unfortunately, so were you. The scent of your shampoo immediately hit him. Something fruity, sweet. His brain stopped working, briefly. You looked up. Way up, a fact you seemed to find amusing. “Wow.” “What?” “You're useful.” Dean handed over the cereal. “I get that a lot.” “I bet you do.” The smile you sent him should've come with a warning label. You wandered over to the kitchen island and hopped onto one of the stools. Not sat, you hopped. Like some kind of overgrown golden retriever. And Dean hated how adorable he found it. “You know” you began, swinging your legs slightly, “you weren't what I expected.” That caught his attention. “Oh?”

“Hannah talks about you a lot.” Dean groaned. “Please don't.” “No, it's good stuff.” “I don't believe that.” You laughed softly. “It is.” The sound made something uncomfortable shift inside his chest. Not uncomfortable, dangerous. That was the word, dangerous. Because this wasn't how attraction usually worked for him. Normally he saw a pretty girl, they flirted, they hooked up, the end. Simple. Easy. This? This felt suspiciously like getting to know somebody. Which was significantly more terrifying. “What exactly does Hannah say?” he asked. Your grin turned mischievous. “That you're annoying.” “Fantastic.” “Full of yourself.” “Wonderful.” “Terrible influence.” “Okay.” “And weirdly loyal.” Dean blinked. That last one surprised him, apparently it surprised you too because your expression softened slightly. “Hannah really loves you guys.” The statement landed differently than he'd expected. For a second he caught a glimpse of something beneath your usual confidence. Something quieter. Something sincere. “We love her too.” The smile that spread across your face was impossibly warm. “Yeah.”

For a moment neither of you spoke. The house noise faded into the background, just slightly. Enough for Dean to notice how close he was standing. Enough to notice you looking at him, actually looking at him. Not because Hannah was nearby. Not because the group was talking, just because. And suddenly remembering that you were off limits became significantly harder.

“You know” you said eventually. “Hm?” “I thought hockey players would be bigger.” Dean barked out a laugh. “What?” “I don't know.”, you shrugged, “I expected more neck.” “More neck?” “Yeah.” “That's your criticism?” “It was either that or the emotional repression.” Dean nearly choked. Your laughter immediately filled the kitchen. God.

You were impossible, absolutely impossible. And the worst part? You weren't even trying. You had no idea what Hannah had said. No idea that Dean was supposed to stay away. No idea that every smile, every laugh, every second spent talking to him was making the situation infinitely worse. Because while you were happily eating cereal at midnight and making fun of hockey players. Dean was rapidly approaching the point where ignoring Hannah's warning was starting to feel less like an option and more like an inevitability.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

At some point during the evening the house began to empty, not completely. Just enough that the noise softened. Garrett and Hannah had disappeared upstairs nearly half an hour ago. Tucker had fallen asleep stretched across an armchair and Logan was getting progressively worse at Mario Kart. For the first time all night there wasn't a crowd surrounding you. Dean found himself noticing immediately. You were standing near the front door, grabbing your purse. The sight alone caught his attention. “Going somewhere?” You glanced up a small smile immediately appearing. “Just outside.” Dean frowned. “It is freezing outside.” You shrugged. “I know.” Then you reached into your pocket and produced a cigarette. “Oh.” Understanding immediately dawned. You wiggled it between your fingers. “Victory cigarette.” Dean laughed. “A what?” “Victory cigarette.” You said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I only let myself smoke if I win.” “That seems backwards.” “I never claimed to be smart.” Dean snorted. “You know what?” “What?” “I believe that.”

You gasped dramatically. The performance would have been more convincing if you weren't laughing. “Rude.” A few moments later the two of you stepped out onto the front porch. The Massachusetts air hit Dean immediately. Cold enough that he regretted not grabbing a jacket. You, meanwhile, seemed entirely unbothered, you sat down on the top step, tucking one leg beneath yourself as you lit the cigarette, the orange glow briefly illuminated your face. Then you exhaled towards the night sky. For a while neither of you spoke. The silence felt surprisingly comfortable, not awkward, just quiet. The kind of quiet that only happened when somebody's company felt easy. Dean found himself looking out across the street. The neighbourhood was peaceful this late. Most of the houses dark. The occasional glow from a bedroom window. A dog barking somewhere in the distance.

Beside him, you sighed contentedly. “Good night.” “Yeah.” A smile tugged at your lips. “I really missed her.” Dean didn't need clarification. “Hannah?” You nodded. The softness in your voice caught his attention immediately. “Yeah.” A moment passed, then another. The cigarette rested between your fingers. Your eyes fixed somewhere beyond the street, lost in thought. “Hannah saved my life, you know.” Dean's head turned, you said it so casually. Like it wasn't a statement capable of completely changing the mood. For the first time all evening you looked away, not uncomfortable. Just thoughtful. “My mom died when I was thirteen.” The words settled heavily between you. Dean stayed quiet. Instinctively understanding that this wasn't something he should interrupt. “It was just me and my dad after that.” You gave a small shrug. “He wasn't really interested in being anybody's parent before she died. Afterwards he became even less interested.” The smile on your face had disappeared now. Not sad. Just honest. “I spent a lot of time figuring things out myself.”

Dean's chest tightened. Beside him, you stared out into the darkness. “As it turns out, fourteen-year-olds are terrible at raising themselves.” The joke landed softly. Not quite enough to hide the truth underneath. Dean understood why you'd made it anyway. “I met Hannah that year.”, a genuine smile finally returned, smaller than usual. But infinitely more real. “She just decided we were friends.” Dean laughed quietly. That sounded exactly like Hannah.

“I didn't really have a say in it.” “Nobody ever does” “She started bringing me home after school.” You looked down at the cigarette in your hand. “Then her mom started sending leftovers home with me.” Dean already knew where this story was going. And somehow it made it worse. “Then she started making enough leftovers for two people on purpose.” Your voice softened. “Then one day she bought me a birthday cake.” Something squeezed painfully around Dean's heart. Because he could hear it. The significance of that memory. Not the cake itself. What it represented, someone remembering, someone caring, someone choosing you. “Hannah's parents were the first adults who ever made me feel like I mattered.” The confession was so quiet Dean almost missed it. The porch suddenly felt much smaller. The distance between the two of you somehow disappearing. You laughed softly, a little embarrassed by your own honesty. “anyway.” Dean shook his head immediately. “No.” You glanced over. “No?” “No anyway.” The corner of your mouth twitched. “What does that mean?” “It means that's a big story and you don't get to dismiss it with anyway.”# For a second you just stared at him, then something in your expression shifted, something warm, something vulnerable. “They adopted me when I was sixteen.” Dean swallowed. You said it so simply. Like it wasn't one of the most important things anybody had ever done for you. “Hannah used to joke that she finally got the sister she always wanted.” A laugh escaped you. “She still says it.” “She's right.” The words left Dean before he could stop them. Your eyes met his. The world seemed to go strangely quiet. “You think?”

“Yeah.” His answer came easily, without hesitation because after one evening he could already see it. The way Hannah looked at you and the way you looked at Hannah, family wasn't always blood. Sometimes it was choosing each other and it was painfully obvious the two of you had done exactly that. For a moment neither of you looked away, the cigarette had long since been forgotten. The cold no longer mattered, Dean could only focus on you. The woman beside him. The woman who had somehow gone from stranger to the most interesting person he'd ever met in the space of a single night. And as he watched the small smile spread across your face, Dean realised he was in far more trouble than he'd originally thought. Because this wasn't a crush anymore and it definitely wasn't just attraction. This was the beginning of something much worse. Something that looked suspiciously like falling.

For a while neither of you spoke, the conversation had settled into something softer now. The easy teasing and jokes still lingered beneath the surface, but there was something else there too. Something quieter.

Dean found himself looking at you again, really looking at you, not the wrestler, not the girl Hannah had spent hours talking about. Just you. Your hair was still slightly damp from your shower, the ends curling where they rested against the collar of your jacket. The porch light cast a warm glow across your features, softening them somehow. You looked tired. Not exhausted. Just worn around the edges in a way that made you seem more real. More human. The silence stretched comfortably between you. Eventually you glanced over and caught him staring again. “You're doing it.” Dean sighed. “What?” “Looking at me like that.” His mouth twitched. “Like what?” You narrowed your eyes. “Like you're trying to figure something out.” That was alarmingly accurate. Dean leaned back against the railing. “Maybe I am.” “Oh?” Your smile returned smaller this time. “What have you got so far?”

He pretended to think about it. “You're annoying.” You gasped. “I'm serious.” “You are not.” “You haven't stopped talking since I met you.” “That's because I'm delightful.” Dean laughed. The sound made you smile wider. God. You liked making him laugh. That realization landed somewhere deep in his chest. “You know” you continued, “I had a completely different picture of you in my head.” “Yeah?” "Yeah.” You tucked your chin onto your knee. “Hannah made you sound like a disaster.” Dean barked out a laugh. “That's because she's known me for a while.” “Fair.” “Is this where you tell me you're disappointed?” Your eyes met his and the teasing faded slightly. “No.” The answer came far too quickly. Something warm flickered across Dean's skin. “No?”

You shook your head. “No.” Neither of you looked away. For a second the night seemed strangely still. The distant sounds from inside the house faded into the background. The world narrowing down to the space between the two of you. Then you smiled suddenly as though you'd realised the moment had become too serious. “You're definitely less dumb than I expected.” Dean groaned. “There she is.” “What?” “The insult.” You laughed, a genuine one. Head tipping back slightly. Dean's eyes followed the movement before he could stop himself. Unfortunately you noticed, of course you noticed. Your grin became almost unbearable. “Oh.” Dean immediately knew he was in trouble. “Oh?” “I get it now.” “You get what?”

A mischievous sparkle appeared in your eyes. “The staring.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are impossible.” “You think I'm pretty.” Heat immediately crawled up his neck. The fact that you sounded so pleased about it somehow made things worse. “I think you're very aware of yourself.”

“That's not a no.” You looked entirely too smug. Dean shook his head. The movement only made you laugh harder and for some reason he couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed because seeing you happy felt weirdly rewarding. The kind of rewarding that probably should have concerned him. A cold breeze swept across the porch and you shivered immediately, the movement was small, barely noticeable. Dean noticed anyway. Without thinking, he shrugged off his hoodie. You frowned, “What are you doing?” “You're cold.” “I'm fine.” “You literally just shivered.” “I'm from Indiana.” “What does that have to do with anything?” “We're built different.” Dean rolled his eyes before holding the hoodie out. You looked at it. Then at him, then back at the hoodie. A smile slowly spread across your face. “Thank you.” The sincerity in your voice caught him off guard. You slipped it on a moment later, the sleeves swallowed your hands, the fabric hanging loosely from your frame. And something about seeing you wearing his hoodie nearly finished him off completely. Because suddenly it looked normal, comfortable. Like something you'd done a hundred times before. You buried your nose briefly in the collar. A content sigh escaping. Dean was absolutely finished. “You know” you said softly. “Hm?” “It smells like you.” Every coherent thought immediately abandoned him. Your eyes widened a second later, realising what you'd said. “Oh my God.” The laugh that escaped you was pure embarrassment., “I didn't mean that weirdly.” Dean couldn't stop smiling. “You sure?” “Dean.” “I'm just asking.” You groaned dramatically, hiding your face inside the sleeves. The action was so ridiculously cute it physically hurt. And as Dean watched you peek out at him through a grin you were clearly trying to hide, one thing became painfully obvious. He wasn't staying away from you. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Not ever. Because somewhere between the wrestling match, the kitchen conversation, and this stupid porch, he'd stopped trying to convince himself not to want you.

And started wondering what would happen if you wanted him too.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Eventually the cold forced the two of you back inside. Not that either of you were particularly eager to end the conversation. The moment Dean opened the front door, warmth flooded over both of you. The house had quietened considerably. The television was still on, some terrible reality show playing in the background. Tucker remained unconscious in the armchair. Logan had disappeared entirely. And Beau was asleep on one end of the couch with his head tilted at an angle that looked genuinely painful. You immediately lowered your voice. “Aw.” Dean glanced over. “What?” “They fell asleep waiting for me.” “You sound surprised.” Your expression softened. “People don't usually wait around for me.” The statement was so casual that Dean wasn't entirely sure you realised how sad it sounded. Before he could respond, you wandered over to the couch. A blanket had been abandoned over one arm. Without hesitation you carefully draped it over Beau. Then adjusted it, then adjusted it again. Dean smiled. “What?”, Your head snapped around. “he looked cold.” “You wrestle people for fun.” “And?” “And now you're tucking grown men into bed.” “He looked uncomfortable.” Dean laughed, God. You were ridiculous, completely ridiculous. The smile you shot him in return felt almost unfair. A moment later you dropped down onto the opposite end of the couch. Your legs immediately curling beneath you, comfortable, at home, like you'd been part of the house for years. Maybe in a way you had, not here specifically but with Hannah with Garrett with all the people she'd brought into her life.

Dean sat beside you. Closer than necessary but not close enough. The realization hit him immediately. Dangerous. Very dangerous. The television continued playing quietly in the background. Neither of you paid any attention. You were busy stealing pieces of popcorn from a bowl balanced on Dean's lap. “Stop that.” “I'm helping.” “You're eating all of it.” “That's what helping is.” Dean rolled his eyes. You grinned. A few minutes later your head bumped lightly against his shoulder. Whether intentionally or not he wasn't entirely sure. Neither were you judging by the way your eyes widened slightly afterwards. Neither of you moved away. The contact remained, small, barely noticeable, yet somehow it felt impossible to ignore. Dean became acutely aware of everything. The weight of your shoulder, the scent of his hoodie still wrapped around you, the warmth radiating from your body. His pulse picked a fantastic moment to become an idiot, the room felt smaller, quieter, the air thicker somehow, slowly your gaze lifted, meeting his and suddenly the teasing disappeared. No jokes, no sarcasm, just you looking at him. Dean swallowed. You noticed, of course you noticed, the corner of your mouth lifted slightly. “You keep doing that.” His voice came out lower than intended. “Doing what?” “Looking at me.” Dean laughed softly. “You're one to talk.” A faint blush appeared across your cheeks. The sight nearly destroyed him. Because for all your confidence, all your charisma, all the attention you'd commanded in that ring earlier this seemed to affect you too. The realization gave him just enough courage. His eyes dropped briefly to your lips. Then returned to your eyes. The room suddenly felt very quiet. “You know” you murmured. “Hm?” “I don't think you're as smooth as you think you are.” Dean's smile widened. “No?” “No.” You looked entirely too pleased with yourself. “So what happens now?” The question lingered between you. Neither of you pretending anymore, neither of you looking away. Dean's hand lifted almost without thinking. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, the movement stilled both of you. Your breath caught. Enough for him to notice. Enough for him to know. And suddenly he wasn't the only one leaning forward. The kiss happened softly, almost cautiously. The kind that started as a question rather than a demand. A gentle brush of lips, warm, tentative., perfect. For a second neither of you moved. Then your hand slid into his hair and every coherent thought Dean possessed abandoned ship. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were smiling. Neither seeming entirely capable of stopping. Your forehead rested lightly against his, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Dean couldn't stop looking at you, not that he was trying anymore. The entire evening had been one long exercise in self-control and he was beginning to suspect it had all been completely pointless because somehow, impossibly, you were looking at him the exact same way, like he'd become the most interesting person in the room. Your laugh came out soft, breathless. “Hi.” Dean barked out a surprised laugh. “Hi?” “Just checking you're real.” Oh, that's your concern?” You nodded seriously. “Well obviously.” His thumb brushed lightly across your cheek. The movement happened before he could think better of it. Your eyes softened immediately and God that look was going to kill him. “you know” you murmured. “Hm?” “I was trying very hard not to like you.” Dean's eyebrows shot up. “You were?” “Mm.” You nodded. “Hockey players have a reputation.” “We do.” “You especially.” Dean groaned. “There it is.” “What?” “The judgement.” You laughed, the sound warm and affectionate, not teasing, not entirely. “I was wrong.”

Something in Dean's chest tightened because the way you said it sounded important. Like you weren't talking about hockey anymore. Like you were talking about him. Before he could respond, your eyes drifted down to his mouth again, a dangerous development. One Dean wholeheartedly supported. The second kiss was less cautious. Less uncertain. Neither of you needing to ask permission this time. Your fingers curled into the front of his shirt and Dean's hand settled naturally at your waist and suddenly the entire world narrowed down to you. Your laugh, your warmth, the way you melted closer, the way every instinct in his body screamed not to let you go. When you finally pulled away, your cheeks were pink. Your smile entirely impossible to ignore. “Okay.” Dean laughed. “Okay?” “Now I'm definitely keeping you.” The statement was so confident. So matter-of-fact. As though you'd already decided. Dean should probably have found that alarming. Instead it made him grin. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah.” You looked entirely too pleased with yourself. “I like you.” The honesty of it hit him harder than it should have. No games, no pretending. Just the truth, simple as that.

Dean stared at you for a moment hen shook his head. “You're unbelievable.” “That's not what Hannah says.” The mention of her name should have reminded him it should have brought back every warning she'd given him every reason he was supposed to stay away. Instead all he could think about was the girl sitting in front of him wearing his hoodie and smiling at him like she'd already made up her mind. And honestly? Dean was tired of pretending he wanted anything else. A moment later he slid an arm beneath your knees. Your startled squeal immediately filled the room. “Dean!” “What?” “Put me down.” “No.” You were already laughing, already wrapping your arms around his neck. “You are so annoying.” As Dean carried you towards the staircase, he found himself thinking that this had spiralled out of control remarkably fast. Not that he particularly cared because for the first time all night, you were looking at him the way he'd been looking at you and that felt dangerously close to perfect.

The trip upstairs was significantly harder than it should have been, mostly because you wouldn't stop laughing. “Dean.” “Hm?” “Put me down.” “No.” “Dean.” “You seem comfortable.” “I am not comfortable.” You immediately tightened your arms around his neck. The liar. Dean grinned, “you know, for a wrestler, you're surprisingly easy to carry." Your gasp echoed through the hallway. “That is so rude.” “It was a compliment.” “No, it wasn't.” “It absolutely was.”

By the time he reached his bedroom, both of you were smiling so hard your faces hurt. The door clicked shut behind you and suddenly everything became a little quieter, a little more real. For the first time all evening there wasn't a crowd, no hockey team, no Hannah, no noise from downstairs. Just the two of you, the shift was immediate. You looked at him and he looked at you and neither of you seemed entirely sure what to say next.

A soft smile tugged at your lips. “Hi.” Dean laughed quietly. “You already did that one.” “I know.” “Got any new material?” You stepped a little closer, “Maybe.” The teasing in your voice was still there but softer now. Your hands found the front of his shirt, absent minded, comfortable, like they belonged there. Dean's chest tightened because this wasn't what he'd expected. The attraction had been there from the second he'd seen you, that wasn't surprising. What surprised him was how much he liked everything else, the conversations, the laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about wrestling, the way you spoke about Hannah, the way you somehow managed to make every room feel brighter.

“You thinking again?” you asked. “Maybe.” “Dangerous.” Dean smiled. “You've said that.” “Because it's true.” Your gaze softened and for a moment neither of you moved. Then your hand lifted, brushing lightly against his cheek, such a small gesture, yet somehow it felt more intimate than anything else that had happened that night. Dean covered your hand with his own and just like that, the last of the distance disappeared. The kiss was slow, unhurried, neither of you rushing, neither of you needing to. The entire evening had been building towards this, every conversation, every smile, every look across a crowded room. It all seemed to settle here, into something warm.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his. A sleepy smile spreading across your face. “Today was a really good day.” Dean looked at you for a moment. “Yeah.” It had been one of the best he'd had in a long time. you laughed softly before leaning into him again. “You know I’m not usually the kind of girl to sleep with someone the day I meet them” “I am” “I know” The silence stretched between you after that as if you were weighing up every possibly outcome in your head. “I want to” “You want to what sweetheart”

Your face flushed, you could hardly bring yourself to find the words, “I want you” Dean could’ve died right there and been a happy man.  “You sure?” “Don’t make me ask twice Di Laurentis” “Yes ma’am” he was treating you like the most valuable thing in the world, because to him you were. Dean could only keep his cool for so long, you were kissing him like the world was going to end and if it was he was going to make sure the last thing he tasted was you.

He was quick to shed you of your outfit pulling the material off your body like it offended him by even daring to cover up your beauty. “Fuck angel, knew you were pretty” He spoke before letting his fingers unhook your bra, “Didn't realise you were this pretty” he whispered as his mouth made contact with your nipple, sucking on the bud, a sensation that you had never felt before. “Fuck, dean” “Yes that's it moan for me baby” Dean's lips then trailed down from your breasts, down your stomach until he got just above your panties, his eyes looked up to meet your hooded ones, “You sure about this darlin'”

“Yes”, you nodded furiously, “I'm ready for you” Dean almost had a heart attack. He pressed a kiss just above your panty line before hooking his fingers in the elastic and pulling it down. “Fuck” Dean mused practically talking to himself, he licked a stripe down your pussy making your hips buck and eyes roll.

You moaned out a half response and that was all that Dean needed before he properly went down on you. his tongue managed to hit all the places that you needed him most. He made you feel more pleasure than you had imagined was possible.  His tongue worked every curve of your core like he was committing it to memory and you could feel the precipice of your pleasure on the horizon.

“Dean”, you moaned out a warning. “That's it angel, come for me” That was all the instructions you needed as that coil in your abdomen finally snapped and you came apart with a moan. but Dean didn't stop he continued tasting you, letting you ride your orgasm. only pulling away from your pussy when he was sure you were done. “Such a good girl for me”, The praise rolled off his lips as he moved up so he was back face to face with you. “Still feeling good angel?” “Never been better”,  You decided that Dean was wearing too many clothes, your fingers tugged at his shirt and he smirked against your lips, “I'm on it sweetheart. Patience”, he teased as he helped you take his shirt off.

Dean took this moment pulled back from you to admire you, the hunger behind your eyes, the way your chest was heaving with need, it was enough to turn him feral. “I’m gonna fuck you now okay angel, gonna make you feel good.” You nodded in response, watching with need as jimmy unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants and boxers off. revealing that he was rock hard and so ready for you.

He brushed his head against your folds a couple times, gathering your slick before he slowly pushed into you. The moan that left your lips was unlike any sound that you have ever felt before as Dean buried himself inside of you whispering praise, “Such a good girl for me” He stayed still inside of you, letting you adjust to the intrusion. he only began to move when he felt your hips buck against him, practically begging for now. “You only just got a taste and you want more. my greedy girl” He teased but he did exactly what you wanted and began thrusting slow, deep and steady inside of you. “Don’t push it” you moaned and he just smirked down at you, enjoying the view. It wasn't long until you felt the same feeling from earlier, the warning that you were about to tip over the edge. all it took was one mewl from you and jimmy knew that you were close. “Gonna come aren’t you baby” You nodded. His hand moved to where your bodies met and began to rub your clit and that was it, your orgasm ripped through you. And that mental image was all that it took to tip Dean over the edge as he spilled into the condom groaning your name.

Dean was quick to get up and clean you up whispering sweet little phrases as he did so, hardly letting you lift a finger as he bundled you close to his toned chest. The room was dark apart from the faint glow of the bedside lamp. At some point the conversation had drifted away entirely. The adrenaline from the evening had finally started to wear off, leaving behind something softer. Something warmer. Dean lay on his back against the pillows, one arm tucked behind his head. Beside him, you were fighting a losing battle against sleep, it was honestly kind of adorable. Every few minutes your eyes would close, then open again, then close, then open. As though you were determined to stay awake despite the fact that your body had clearly made other plans.

“You know” Dean murmured. “Hm?” Your eyes were already half shut. “I think you're falling asleep.” A small frown appeared. “No I'm not.” “You absolutely are.” “Nope.” The word came out slurred. Dean laughed and you immediately smiled, the sound seemed to make you happy. “You had a long day.” “I had a great day.” The correction came automatically, without hesitation.

Dean felt something warm settle in his chest because he knew exactly what you meant. The match, seeing Hannah, the celebration afterwards, everything. Your smile lingered even as your eyes drifted shut again.” I won.” Dean laughed softly, there it was, your favourite topic. “You did.” A content hum escaped you, for a moment silence settled over the room. Comfortable. Easy. Dean expected you to speak again, to tell another story, to make another joke. Instead he glanced over and realised you'd fallen asleep, just like that, mid conversation.

The realization made him smile. Your cheek was pressed into the pillow, hair spilling across the mattress, one hand curled loosely beneath your chin, still wearing his hoodie, the sleeves far too long for you. You looked younger asleep, softer, all the confidence and bravado from earlier stripped away. Just a girl who'd had an incredible day and finally felt safe enough to rest. Dean couldn't look away. Which was becoming a recurring problem. Earlier that evening he'd watched you command an entire arena, watched hundreds of people scream your name. Watched you become the centre of attention without even trying. Now, somehow, this felt infinitely more dangerous because this wasn't the wrestler. This wasn't the performer, this was you. The girl who got emotional talking about Hannah's family, the girl who tucked blankets around sleeping people, the girl who saved victory cigarettes for special occasions, the girl who smiled every time she looked at him. Dean released a quiet breath, this had gotten out of hand remarkably fast. Twenty-four hours ago you hadn't existed in his world, now he couldn't imagine not knowing you. A sleepy sound escaped you, your body shifting instinctively towards his, without waking up, without thinking, just naturally seeking him out. Dean's heart did something profoundly embarrassing.

You settled against his side, content, comfortable, trusting. And that was what finally got him not the match not the flirting not even the kisses, the trust. The way you'd let your guard down completely. The way you'd simply assumed he'd be there when you woke up. Dean looked down at you for a long moment, then carefully brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

His fingertips lingering for half a second longer than necessary. “You are so much trouble” he whispered. The smile that tugged at his mouth felt helpless because for the first time in a very long time, Dean wasn't thinking about tomorrow or hockey or anything else. he was thinking about the girl asleep beside him and the terrifying possibility that he was already starting to fall for her.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

The first thing Dean became aware of was warmth, the second was weight. Something heavy rested across his chest, something soft, something that smelled faintly of vanilla shampoo. His eyes opened slowly for a moment he simply stared at the ceiling, disoriented by the unfamiliar sense of peace, then he looked down. And immediately remembered everything.

You were practically sprawled across him. One arm stretched over his stomach, one leg tangled with his, your face buried against his shoulder. Still asleep. Dean couldn't help smiling because somehow, during the night, you'd migrated from your side of the bed to directly on top of him. Not beside him, not near him, on him. Like a human weighted blanket. A small puff of air escaped your lips. Dean bit back a laugh Jesus Christ you were adorable. The realization was becoming increasingly inconvenient. Carefully, he brushed a few strands of hair away from your face. The movement earned him a sleepy noise of protest, your nose scrunched. Then, without opening your eyes, you burrowed even closer. Dean's heart immediately forgot how to function.

“Good morning to you too.” The words were barely above a whisper. You responded by tightening your grip around him. The traitor. A minute later your eyelashes fluttered. Then again. Then finally your eyes cracked open. Dean watched the exact moment consciousness returned. The confusion, the recognition, the memory. Your entire face softened. “Oh.” His chest tightened. “Morning.”

A smile slowly spread across your lips, sleepy, genuine, completely unguarded. “Morning.” For a few seconds neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in moving. The sunlight filtering through the curtains painted everything gold, the room quiet around you. And for the first time since meeting you, Dean realized you weren't talking. An achievement he hadn't previously thought possible. “You okay?” he asked. Your smile widened. “I think so.” “You think so?” You nodded against his shoulder. “I had to remember where I was.” “And?” Another pause. Then your arms squeezed him lightly. “I like where I am.” Dean groaned. “Oh, that's dangerous.” A laugh escaped you, still rough from sleep, still entirely capable of ruining his day. “What?” “You can't just say stuff like that.” Your eyebrows lifted. “Why not?” “Because now I have to pretend that didn't do something to me.” The grin that followed was pure trouble. “Oh.” “Oh?” “You like me.” Dean stared. You stared back.

Then immediately dissolved into laughter. The sound filled the room, bright, happy, impossible not to join. “You're unbearable.” “You kissed me first.” “That's your defence?” “It seems pretty solid.” Dean shook his head. You only looked more pleased with yourself. For a moment he simply watched you, the sunlight catching in your hair, the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, the fact that despite everything, you hadn't moved away, not even an inch, if anything you'd somehow gotten closer. His hand settled lightly against your waist, instinctive, comfortable, natural.

The realization hit him unexpectedly, this felt easy. Like you'd been doing this for years instead of less than twelve hours. Your gaze dropped briefly to where his hand rested. Then back to his face. The teasing disappeared it was replaced by something softer. Something that made Dean's pulse stumble. “Hey.” His voice came out quieter than intended. “Hey.” Your smile returned, smaller this time, more intimate. And suddenly Dean found himself thinking that this was a mistake not because he regretted it not because he wanted it to stop. Quite the opposite, because he was enjoying it far too much, because one night wasn't supposed to feel like this, because waking up beside you should not have felt so natural. Yet somehow it did. And as you settled your head back against his chest with a content little sigh, Dean had the distinct feeling that he was already in much deeper than he was prepared to admit. Even to himself.

The morning stretched on lazily. Neither of you seemed particularly interested in leaving the bed. At some point you'd migrated from lying against his chest to stealing half of his pillow. Then all of his pillow, then somehow most of the blanket too. Dean was beginning to suspect you were a menace. “You're smiling again.” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Hm?” “That weird little smile.”, You pointed accusingly. “The one you do when you're thinking.” Dean grabbed your hand before you could poke him, he movement made you laugh. You were going to ruin him. “You know” he said. “What?”

“Hannah was right.” Immediately your face lit up. “About what?” “Everything.” You looked ridiculously pleased by that answer. “As she should be.” Dean rolled his eyes. “You two are impossible.” "We're adorable.", The correction came instantly. Without hesitation. Dean laughed. “Sure.” “We are.” “Sure.” You gasped dramatically, the smile never left your face. For a moment he simply watched you, the oversized hoodie you'd slept in, the way your hair was completely out of control, you looked comfortable, happy, safe and for some reason that made him feel comfortable too dangerously comfortable. “So”, You shifted closer. “Tell me.” “Tell you what?” “What exactly did Hannah say?” Dean frowned. “About you?” You nodded. “Yeah.” The answer felt harmless, easy. A continuation of a conversation you'd already been having all night. “Mostly that you're stubborn.” You looked proud. “Correct.” “Annoying.” “Also correct.” “Far too competitive.” You pointed at him. “That's rich coming from an athlete.” Dean laughed. “Fair.”

The smile remained on your face, waiting, expecting more. So Dean gave it to you. “She also told me you were off limits.” The words left his mouth casually, without thought, without warning, the reaction was immediate. Your smile vanished, not faded it vanished. As though somebody had flipped a switch. Dean frowned, “y/n” For a second you simply stared at him. The colour draining from your face. “What?” The word came out barely above a whisper. Dean sat up slightly, confused. “Hannah.” Your eyes widened. “No.” The sound didn't even seem directed at him. More like something you'd said to yourself. “No.” Suddenly you were moving, throwing the blankets aside. Climbing out of bed so quickly Dean barely processed what was happening. “Hey.” Your breathing had changed, shallow, rapid, panic, pure panic. “y/n” “What do you mean she said I was off limits?” Dean's stomach dropped because suddenly he realised you hadn't known.

“Oh.” The room felt very quiet. “Oh, shit.” You physically flinched. The movement hit him harder than it should have. “She said that?” The hurt in your voice was almost worse than the panic because it wasn't anger it was heartbreak. “Why would she say that?” “y/n” “Why would she say that?” Your eyes were glassy now. Dean had never seen you look like this. Not once, not all evening, not after sharing the story about Hannah's family, not after talking about being adopted, nothing. This was worse so much worse. Because suddenly he understood to you, Hannah wasn't just a friend she was family and somewhere in your mind this had already become a betrayal. “No.” You shook your head almost violently. “No no no.”

Dean was out of bed immediately. “Listen to me.” But you were already backing away. “I didn't know.” The words cracked halfway through and somehow that was the moment his heart truly sank because you sounded devastated. Not guilty, devastated. “I swear I didn't know.” “I know.” “I wouldn't have” “I know.” But you weren't looking at him anymore. You were looking towards the door, already leaving, already running. The way people did when they were hurt. “y/n” You grabbed your bag, your jacket, your keys, anything within reach. Dean followed panic building inside his chest.

“Can you just stop for a second?” “No.” The answer came immediately tears were gathering in your eyes now, you looked furious with yourself. Humiliated and heartbroken all at once. “I need to go.” “You don't need to go.” “I do.” The front door opened and old air flooded inside. “y/n” For the first time since he'd met you, you couldn't look at him and somehow that hurt more than anything else. Because twelve hours ago you had looked at him like he was somebody worth knowing and now you looked shattered.