one at a time

Damn you.

The worst part? You knew exactly what you were doing. Dean released a dramatic sigh, allowing himself to be pulled along despite his protests. Not that he was putting up much of a fight, he'd willingly follow you almost anywhere. "Babydoll, that doesn't mean we have to drink toxic waste." Nevertheless, when you reached the shop, he groaned under his breath and stepped ahead of you, grabbing the door handle before you could. You beamed up at him, making his chest warmed despite himself.

Then he stepped inside, and immediately regretted every life choice that had brought him to this moment. Pink. Pink was the only thing that came to mind. Pink walls. Pink chairs. Pink flowers. Pink neon signs glowing against the far wall. Even the display cases looked aggressively pink. Dean stopped dead in the entrance, his gaze sweeping across the café in horror. He was surrounded by pink. Fuck the Pilates class. Dean had never felt more out of place than he did right now.

His hockey teammates would have a field day with this. God, if Garrett, Tucker, and Logan saw him now, he'd never hear the end of it. Garrett would take pictures. Logan would make those annoying kissy faces. Tucker would somehow find a way to bring it up during every team dinner for the next six months. "Dean?" Your amused voice broke through his internal panic. He looked down to find you trying and failing to hide a smile.

"Try to look less traumatized."

"Babydoll, I am traumatized."

"You're being dramatic."

Dean gestured wildly at the explosion of pink surrounding them. "This place looks like Barbie threw up in here." A snort escaped you before you could stop it. "Hi!" You smiled, approaching the barista before Dean could make a run for it, not even needing to glance at the menu. "Could I please order two iced vanilla matcha lattes with sea salt cold foam?" The barista typed the order into the register while Dean stood there looking personally victimized by every word that had just left your mouth.

Before you could even reach for your wallet, a warm hand settled against your waist. Dean gently nudged you aside, stepping between you and the card reader. A second later, his card tapped against the machine. You grinned. "Thanks, baby." Rising onto your tiptoes, you looped your arms around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his lips. Dean immediately kissed you back, eagerly. Very eagerly.

One hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer as though he'd forgotten you were standing in a crowded coffee shop at eight in the morning. A surprised laugh escaped you against his mouth. Someone near the pickup counter cleared their throat. Another customer giggled. Only neither of you paid attention. Dean definitely didn't. The man had always been physically affectionate, but ever since you'd started dating, he'd somehow become worse.

The kiss lingered a second longer than necessary. Then another. Then another. When you finally pulled away, Dean chased after you slightly before seeming to remember where he was. A smug smile tugged at his mouth. "You know," He drawled, thumb brushing along your hip. "If that's my reward for buying overpriced grass-flavored milk, maybe this place isn't so bad." You gasped, purposely hitting his sore bicep.

"It does not taste like grass."

"Your taste buds are broken."

"My taste buds are normal. Yours have been corrupted by social media."

"Oh, please. You're just mad because you survived one Pilates class and discovered muscles you didn't know existed."

Dean groaned dramatically at the memory of what he had just endured. Every muscle in his body protested the memory. His abs hurt. His thighs hurt. Hell, his ribs somehow hurt. Hockey practices were brutal. Weight training was brutal. But Pilates? Pilates was a different kind of evil. "I don't want to talk about it." Your laughter filled the café, and Dean simply watched the way your eyes crinkled at the corners, the way your smile stretched across your face, and felt his annoyance dissolve almost instantly.

In less than ten minutes, the barista was setting your drinks on the pick-up counter. The second your name was called, Dean pushed himself out of his chair. "I'll get them." You didn't bother arguing. Mostly because watching Dean walk away in a pair of gym shorts was one of your favorite hobbies. Pilates might have nearly killed him, but the black fitted shirt stretched deliciously across his broad shoulders and narrow waist, the man somehow looking unfairly attractive even while limping slightly from muscle fatigue.

Dean returned moments later carrying both drinks, his expression growing more suspicious with every step. The matcha glowed an alarming shade of green, ice cubes floated near the top while creamy swirls of vanilla and sea salt cold foam marbled through the drink. The cup itself sat inside a pastel pink sleeve, complete with a matching pink straw that looked almost comically cheerful against the vibrant green liquid. Balanced on top of the napkins was a bright pink one printed with the words:

I LOVE YOU SO MATCHA!

Dean stared at it, eye twitching in annoyance.

"It's mocking me."

"It is not."

"The napkin literally has a matcha pun on it."

"Which is adorable."

Dean dropped into the chair across from you and held his drink at arm's length, like it was explosive. His nose wrinkled as he inspected the bright green concoction. "You cannot tell me this isn't radioactive grass-flavored milk." The deadpan delivery nearly broke you. "Shut up and mix it." Dean narrowed his eyes. "You sound exactly like someone trying to poison me." Good, god was this man incredibly stubborn.

"First, you lured me to do Pilates, then, you forced me into a pink café, and now you're demanding I consume suspicious green liquid." Rolling your eyes, you reached across the table and nudged his knee with yours. "Mix the drink." With all the enthusiasm of a man preparing for execution, Dean jammed the straw into the cup. The sea salt cold foam slowly disappeared into the matcha, ribbons of pale cream swirling through green until the drink turned a softer shade of jade.

"Don't be a baby, just try it, Dean." You challenged watching as Dean stared at the cup, almost as if contemplating everything that had led up to this moment. Finally, he lifted it toward his mouth and took a cautious sip. You leaned forward expectantly. His brows lifted, then furrowed. The betrayal on his face was immediate. "Admit it, you like it." He did. The problem was that Dean knew you knew that he did. Which meant he would rather throw himself into oncoming traffic than admit you had been right.

A dramatic grimace crossed his face as he took another sip, as though each swallow physically pained him. "Fine, if you hate it so much then throw it away and order a coffee." You took a sip of your own drink, humming happily as the sweet vanilla and creamy sea salt foam mixed with the earthy matcha. The cold drink was heaven after ninety minutes of being folded into positions no human body should ever be forced into. "Babydoll, this was like eight dollars." You smirked around your straw, eyes twinkling in recognition.

Dean immediately caught the look, his own narrowing suspiciously. The pink cup never left his hand, in fact, he'd already taken three more sips. Your gaze dropped pointedly to the cup, then back to him. A flush crept into his cheeks, clearly being caught red handed. "Don't." A laugh bubbled out of you despite your best efforts to hold it back. "You've drank half of it already." He shook his head, only to look down and see that the liquid level had indeed dropped significantly. Dean groaned and slumped back in his chair.

"This is a setup."

"It really isn't."

"You manipulated me."

"All I did was order you a drink."

"You weaponized my love for you."

Unfortunately for him, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth gave him away completely.

"You like it!"

"I tolerate it."

"You love it."

"Okay, babydoll, let's not get carried away."

Once again, his words betrayed him, seeing as the cup was nearly empty now. Dean seemed to realize this at the exact moment you did. A look of genuine horror crossed his face. "You drank the entire thing!" Dean looked personally offended by the evidence. "This is ridiculous. I just was conducting research." You nearly choked on your drink at his absurd statement. "Needed to confirm it was terrible." He shrugged, as you leaned closer from across the table, smirk widening. "And?"

Dean glanced at the empty cup, jaw ticking. You could practically see him debating whether preserving his pride was worth lying directly to your face. He sighed dramatically, making your eyes light up knowing exactly what he was about to say. "It was... okay." Dean immediately regretted those words seeing as you were seconds away from launching yourself across the table. "Okay is basically amazing coming from you." Dean rolled his eyes but wrapped an arm around your waist when you slid onto his side of the booth anyway.

The movement was instinctive, automatic, like breathing. You settled against him, resting your head on his shoulder while he draped an arm across your lap. Outside, the morning sun filtered through the café windows, casting warm golden light across the pink walls and crowded tables. Around you, conversations buzzed, espresso machines hissed, and pop music drifted softly through the speakers. For a moment, neither of you spoke, you simply sat there together.

Dean pressed a kiss against your temple before breaking the comfortable silence. "You know," He murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles against your thigh. "If anyone from the team finds out about this, I'm denying everything." A laugh escaped you, taking another hefty sip of what was left of your drink before squeezing his forearm. "The Pilates class or the matcha?" Dean let out a playful scoff before pressing another loving kiss to your forehead, trying to hide his smile.

"Both, babydoll, obviously."

"You literally drank the whole thing."

"Fake news."

"The evidence is right there."

"The evidence is circumstantial."

Dean's green eyes sparkled with amusement as you rolled your eyes. Despite the complaining, despite the dramatics, espite the ten-minute hate campaign against matcha. He looked happier than he had all morning, and judging by the way his arm tightened around your waist when you snuggled closer, he knew you knew it too. "So does that mean you'll come next weekend too?" You asked sweetly, making Dean immediately grow suspicious. "What's next weekend?"

You smiled innocently, lashes fluttering innocently. "A hot yoga class Hannah mentioned." The groan that left him was loud enough for the entire café to hear which in turn made you laugh so hard tears gathered in your eyes. Dean buried his face in your shoulder, muttering something along the lines of "kill me now". Yet, despite all his complaints, you were already willing to bet he'd be right beside you when next weekend rolled around, probably carrying another eight-dollar matcha, too.