Your father made an unwarranted visit to the rink today. His visit, like always, sent you both into a downward spiral. A piece of you screams that you should stay and be there for your brother. Another piece says it is selfish to pretend you are spending the night at Hannah's, knowing that you are essentially taking away his ability to seek comfort from her tonight, too.

But then, you remind yourself of how he shut down the second you left the ice. He refused to talk, insisting he wanted to be left alone. If he is going to shut the both of you out anyway, you might as well seek out your own comfort.

Garrett leans against the doorframe, checking his watch. “I could drop you off, you know,” he offers, his voice carrying that familiar heavy protectiveness that always flares up whenever your father tries to force his way back into your lives.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” you say, your voice unnecessarily short as the guilt of your deception pricks at your conscience. The screen of your phone illuminates, a little banner reading ‘Your Uber has arrived’. “Plus, my Uber is here, so...”

Lifting your fakely packed overnight bag higher onto your shoulder, you step out onto the porch. Garrett follows you.

“Text me when you get there,” he calls out.

“I will,” you promise. You turn to walk down the steps, but a sudden surge of guilt stops you in your tracks. You turn back, catching his worried gaze. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Garrett says, a fond smile briefly touching his lips.

Over his shoulder, through the still-open front door, you catch Dean lounging on the sofa in the living room. His posture is relaxed, his eyes casually tracking the scene, but there is a knowing smirk on his face as he pretends not to listen in.

Only once you’ve climbed into the waiting Uber and it’s pulling away from the curb does Garrett finally close the front door.

Once you are halfway down the block, you tap on the driver’s shoulder. “Could you just drop me off around the corner? You don’t need to cancel the trip, though.”

“Sure thing, miss,” the driver replies with a nod, turning the next corner. You step out onto the quiet street and pull out your phone, quickly firing off a text to Hannah.

You (20:40): left about a min ago, still okay to cover for me??

Hannah (20:41): Always. I’ve got you covered if he calls.

You (20:42): thanks sis❤️

You double back, moving quietly until you reach the rear of the hockey house. The metal of the fire escape is cold beneath your boots as you climb upward, aiming for Dean’s second-floor window. As expected, he’s left it cracked open just for you.

He’s cleared the stuff from the table under the windowsill, so you’re able to quietly slip inside the dark bedroom. You don’t need to turn on the light; you know your way around well. Moving in the dim light of the hallway spilling through the doorway, you strip off your clothes, leaving yourself in just your panties and a matching bra, as you slip beneath the cool sheets of his bed.

Downstairs, the house is alive with commotion as they start to pregame for their night out. You hear Garrett saying he’ll meet them out, but the way he storms up the stairs and slams the door tells you he’ll likely spend the rest of the night locked up in his room.

“I’m not out tonight boys,” Dean’s voice floats up from the bottom of the stairs, dripping with faux-exhaustion. “Some of us actually worked hard at practice today.”

There’s a series of boos and loud, mocking groans from Tucker and Logan.

It feels like an agonisingly long wait as you lay in the dark, waiting for Dean to come up. A minute later, the bedroom door pushes slightly open as Dean slips into the room.

“You took your time,” you hiss quietly once he’s closed the door.

He chuckles, pulling off his shirt in the dark. “Sorry. Wasn't easy to convince them that I'm sleepy at nine fucking thirty. I’m pretty sure Graham saw right through me.”

“Are you scared of Garrett?” you ask, watching as he strips out of his trousers.

“He’s a psycho when it comes to you and Hannah,” Dean admits, a dry laugh escaping his lips as he crawls into bed beside you. He pulls the covers off of you and gives an approving nod as he notes your matching set. “Hot.”

He pulls you closer, shifting so that he’s on top of you. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist and arms around his neck, breath hitching as you watch his eyes flicker down to your lips.

Usually, you tried to avoid kissing Dean, it brought about feelings you were too scared to try and dissect. But he kissed you now and you welcomed it. His body is warm against yours, the kiss so messy and passionate that it leaves your mind dizzy.

He pulls away from the kiss and an uncomfortable feeling of pride settles within you as you see how utterly dishevelled he looks, his eyes lidded and lips swollen.

“Do you wanna talk about today?” he asks gently.

The mention of the day immediately sours your mood. The sudden anxiety and old family baggage come rushing back, and even though you know Dean is just trying to be supportive, the frustration immediately takes over.

You push slightly against his chest. “If I wanted to talk, it wouldn’t be with you.”

“Oh. Ouch,” he says, looking genuinely wounded.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you sigh, the tension turning into exasperation. “I just meant if I needed to address my daddy issues, I’d do that with a licensed therapist or some shit.”

“Daddy Dean can help,” he offers, his eyes flashing with a playful glint.

“And just like that, I’m dry,” you deadpan.

He reaches between your bodies, touching the damn of your panties. “The lie detector determined...”

“Dean.”

He laughs, a deep rumble vibrating against your chest. “I just mean I can be there for you.”

“I know, Dean,” you whisper, shifting closer to look into his eyes. “But right now, I just need you here.”

Dean closes the distance between you again. This time, he kisses you with deliberate purpose. It’s a kiss meant to prove a point, an unspoken promise that he can be so much more to you than just a fun hookup or your brother's teammate.

His hands are warm and sure as they glide over your skin, touching you everywhere apart from where you need them. He traces the curve of your waist, the line of your ribs, his fingers brushing the waistband of your lace panties before maddeningly pulling away to map the skin of your thigh.

“Dean,” you whisper against his mouth, a quiet plea wrapped in a gasp. You tug at his hair, trying to pull him down, trying to force him to skip the foreplay and just give you the distraction you are craving.

He hums against your lips. “That desperate for me, Graham?”

“Shut up,” you breathe, shifting your hips against his.

He whines softly as you keep shifting your hips up into him.

“How do you want it?” He manages out.

“I just need you to fuck me, and I don’t want it slow.”

Dean does as he’s told, shedding off his boxers before helping you out of your panties. “I’ll kiss you next time, baby,” he says to your pussy before lining himself up to your entrance, and bottoming out. Dean holds himself there for a few seconds, pupils blown.

“Move,” you whined, purposely clenching around him.

Dean grips your hips, fingers sinking into your skin with a pressure that you know will leave a bruise. He snaps his hips into you at a relentless pace, just as you asked. Your body and mind is consumed with him, the little grunts and pants he lets out as he gives you all he can.

It’s exactly as you wanted, hard and fast and makes you forget your own name. Your body revels in the burn of being used like this. You look down and watch as his length disappears within you, reaching the spot that had you seeing stars easily.

No amount of biting your lip is able to stop the loud moan that rips from your throat. Dean instantly leans over you, his palm covering your mouth as he keeps fucking into you.

“Shh, baby,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “They’ll hear you.”

He doesn’t move his palm from your mouth or take his eyes off of you as he keeps fucking you. Sweat’s rolling down his neck now, dampening his hair. A sudden burning desire to pull him closer, to lick the sweat off of his neck before kissing him deeply hits you.

“Do you want to cum?” He asks, ever so considerate.

You nod against his palm and he reaches between your bodies, three fingers pressing down as he rubs on your clit.

You cum as quietly as you can, biting down on his palm to keep quiet. As you come down from your high, he finally moves his hand from your mouth, his fingers locking with yours against the pillows.

When he finally cums in you, he holds you fiercely. It’s too much, too intimate. His hips move slower and with a passion that forces you to feel every single second of his orgasm.

The adrenaline fades, and the reality of the evening comes crashing back down on you. The heavy weight of the day hits you all at once, made worse by Dean’s spoken, and unspoken, confessions. You can feel the tears begin to prick at your eyes.

Before anything can truly settle, you slide out from beneath him, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of the cum dripping from your hole. You stand up and immediately start grabbing your clothes from the floor, pulling them on with hurried, trembling fingers.

Dean props himself up on his elbow, watching your frantic movements in the dark. “Wait, where are you going?”

You had planned to spend the entire night here, tucked safely away in his bed, but you can't breathe in this room anymore.

“I’m going to Hannah’s,” you say, your voice tight as you pull your shirt over your head.

“But I thought you were going to stay?” Dean asks, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looks up at you.

“I don’t think I can,” you say softly, unable to meet his eyes.

“Please don’t leave,” he begs. The vulnerable tone in his voice is a rare thing, and it is almost enough to pull you right back into the bed, back into the safety of his arms.

But the voice in your head is too loud. “Sorry, but I have to.”

You pull on the last of your clothes and grab your overnight bag. He doesn’t stop you as you climb back down the metal fire escape. Tears stream down your face as you pull out your phone, typing in Hannah's address to call an Uber for real this time.

Bestie isn’t a jealous person. Yes, she’d feel some jealousy but not in the kind of way that makes her want to act out or get in the way. It’s a solemn kind of jealousy. She genuinely cares about Armand and Daniel, too, which makes her feel worse because it’s not like she’s rooting for their unhappiness.

She’s also confused by these feelings because she never felt anything like this when she was with Armand and Louis. She knew they had been together for 77 years and that never really bothered her. It maybe made her feel a little insecure every once in awhile, but it didn’t make her feel gutted.

Like you said, part of the reason she isn’t just jumping into the idea of another three person relationship is because Bestie already has her own distinct relationship with Daniel. It isn’t romantic, and even though her relationship with Louis wasn’t romantic either, her dynamic with Daniel is pretty familial.

But also, the main reason loumand and Bestie ever happened to the extent that it did is because of how unique her relationship with Louis is. It never felt weird or awkward for them to share a boyfriend. It just worked for them. She doesn’t think she’d be able to have that dynamic with anyone else.

And it’s not like she’s going to push herself into a love triangle with Armand and the guy he’s been pining after for 53 years. Even if it didn’t sound ridiculous, she wouldn’t want to be in ‘competition’ with Daniel.

So she decides to bow out, a part of her hoping that if she drops everything with Armand and doesn’t ask any questions she’ll at least be able to avoid an awkward conversation. It’s going to hurt, but at least she’ll have her dignity, and maybe, eventually, she’ll be able to be friends with them again.

Also something about Armand and Daniel realizing that Bestie is being uncharacteristically quiet and not being able to piece together why she’s upset is lowkey so them 😭

Armand is just so certain in his feelings for Bestie that it doesn’t even occur to him that she’d be thinking like that. Daniel’s currently mad at Armand and not trying to get together with him, but also, he’s seen how Armand is with Bestie. He knows that Armand has feelings for her.

Daniel is trying to figure out why Bestie looks sad. He asks her if she wants to order take out from one of her favorite places and then watch one of the shows he’s always complaining about. He knows something is wrong when she turns him down.

Armand is lowkey devastated. Why is the light of his life sad?? :(( What can he do to fix it? Does he need to claw his heart or his chest and give it to her for her to feel better? He’ll do it, she just needs to tell him 🥺

The knock at your apartment door came just after seven.

“I know you’re in there,” he called through the door. “Your TV is on, your car is outside, and I’m way too charming to be ignored this aggressively.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Another knock.

“I will start singing.”

You crossed the room fast. “Don’t.”

There was a pause.

“Aha,” he said. “So she lives.”

You opened the door.

Dean stood in the hallway in a Briar hoodie, looking far too good for someone who was clearly annoyed. His eyes moved over you quickly, taking in your face, your sweatpants, and the hoodie you were wearing.

His hoodie.

“Wow,” he said. “Look at that. She remembers I exist.”

“Dean.”

“No, no, this is good. I was starting to think I made you up. A whole woman who steals my clothes and then ghosts me like I’m some random guy with bad hair and a podcast.”

You stepped back to let him in. “I didn’t ghost you.”

Dean walked inside and turned around, looking deeply offended.

“You didn’t ghost me?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy?” he repeated. “That’s your defense?”

“It’s an answer.”

“It’s a terrible answer.” He pointed at you as he started pacing. “You ignored eight texts, four calls, and one vulnerable Snapchat.”

“The one where you zoomed in on your face and asked if I still cared about your emotional well-being?”

“That took courage.”

“It took boredom.”

“It took both.” He stopped in front of you, his frustration slipping just enough for you to hear the worry underneath. “You can’t just disappear on me. Garrett asked if I pissed you off and I didn’t even know what to say. Do you understand how humiliating it is for me to not know something?”

Your throat tightened as Dean kept going, too wound up to notice.

“And no one avoids Dean Di Laurentis. People seek me out. People circle back. People pretend they didn’t see me when we both know they absolutely saw me. I’m visible from space.”

“Dean.”

“If this is about that girl at Malone’s, I swear I told her I was there with someone. You were in the bathroom, so she may not have believed me, but I was noble. Hot, obviously, but noble.”

“I might be pregnant.”

Dean stopped completely.

His mouth stayed slightly open. His eyes widened, and for once in his life, no joke came out.

The silence scared you more than his ranting had.

“I’m sorry,” you rushed out. “I should’ve told you sooner. I know that. I just didn’t know how, and I kept thinking maybe I was overreacting, but then it kept getting later and I got scared, and we’re not even really—”

“Stop.”

His voice was quiet.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I didn’t want you to feel trapped.”

Dean crossed the room before you could say anything else.

Then his arms were around you.

You froze at first, surprised by how fast he pulled you in, but his hand slid up your back and held you there.

A shaky breath left you, and you grabbed the front of his hoodie.

“You don’t have to go through something like this alone,” he said.

“I was so scared,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I didn’t know what you’d do.”

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you. His face was pale under the tan, but he stayed close.

“I don’t know what I’d do,” he admitted. “My brain is currently running around with no pants on. But I know I’m not leaving you alone with it.”

You let out a giggle.

His mouth twitched. “That was not my best line, but I stand by the meaning.”

You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Have you taken a test?” he asked.

You shook your head.

Dean blinked. “You’ve been sitting with this for over a week and haven’t taken a test?”

“I couldn’t.”

His expression softened.

“Okay,” he said. “Then we get one.”

“Now?”

“No, next spring.” He winced immediately. “Sorry. Bad joke. I’m panicking and my mouth has become hostile.”

Despite everything, you laughed again.

Dean reached for your hand. “Shoes. We’re going to CVS before I start Googling symptoms and convince myself I’m pregnant too.”

Five minutes later, he was standing by your door in a baseball cap and sunglasses.

You stared at him as it was dark outside.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“You look insane.”

“I look normal enough.”

You rolled your eyes, but the knot in your chest loosened a little.

At CVS, Dean kept the sunglasses on until you reached the pregnancy test aisle.

Then he took them off and stared at the shelves like he had been asked to solve a crime.

“Why are there so many?”

You covered your mouth.

“No, seriously.” He stepped closer, squinting at the boxes. “How many ways do we need to find out if there’s a tiny Di Laurentis in there?”

“Dean.”

“What’s the difference between this one and that one?”

“That one is digital.”

“So it speaks English?”

“It says pregnant or not pregnant.”

“Great. Better than interpreting emotional hieroglyphics while I’m on the verge of a medical event.”

You laughed for the first time all night without feeling like you might cry.

Dean turned to look at you, and his face softened before he could hide it.

“Don’t look too impressed,” he said. “I’m still wildly unqualified.”

“I can tell.”

He grabbed one box, then another.

“One is enough,” you said.

“Or it could be wrong.”

“Pregnancy tests don’t just make things up.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“Dean.”

“I’m getting two.” He paused, then grabbed a third. “Three.”

“You’re panicking.”

“I’m a thorough panicker.”

At the register, he added sour gummy worms to the counter.

You looked at him. “What are those?”

“Emotional support worms.”

The cashier’s mouth twitched.

You wanted to disappear. You also wanted to kiss him.

Back at your apartment, the air felt heavier again.

Dean set the CVS bag on the counter and looked at you.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Me neither.”

That honesty hit harder than another joke would have.

You took one test and went into the bathroom. Dean stayed outside the door.

“You good?” he called.

“I’m reading the instructions.”

“Right. Literacy first.”

You huffed, then took the test with shaking hands.

When you were done, you set it on the counter and opened the door.

Dean was sitting on the floor outside the bathroom, elbows on his knees, phone in his hand.

He stood immediately.

“How long?”

“Three minutes.”

He set a timer. “Great. Three minutes. That’s nothing.”

A beat passed.

“That’s a lie. Three minutes is forever. You can ruin your whole life in three minutes. You can burn toast and set off the smoke alarm. You can scroll through your ex’s Instagram and make terrible decisions.”

“Dean.”

“Sorry. Filtering broke.”

You leaned against the bathroom doorway, arms wrapped around yourself.

Dean stopped pacing.

His face changed when he looked at you, and he stepped closer but stayed outside the bathroom.

“Whatever it says, we figure it out,” he said. “You hear me?”

You looked down. “You keep saying that.”

“Because I mean it.”

“You don’t know what you’d do.”

“I know I’d freak out,” he said. “Probably in several creative ways. I might call Tucker and say words he can never unhear. I might buy a parenting book written by someone named Linda. I might vomit.”

That pulled a tiny laugh out of you.

“But I won’t leave,” he said. “That part I know.”

The timer went off, your heart dropping as Dean went still.

You turned back into the bathroom and picked up the test. The words were right there on the little screen.

You opened the door and held it out.

Dean snatched it from your hand, then stared down at it.

His shoulders dropped all at once.

“Not pregnant,” he breathed.

You nodded.

For one second, neither of you moved.

Then Dean sagged against the wall and covered his face with one hand.

“Thank fuck.”

You laughed, shaky and relieved. “Yeah.”

“No, I mean that in every possible way.” He lowered his hand, looking dazed. “Spiritually. Emotionally. Academically.”

“Academically?”

“I don’t know. I’m overwhelmed.”

You laughed harder, and he pulled you into his arms again.

You buried your face against his chest, feeling the last nine days loosen all at once.

Dean held you for a long moment, his chin resting against your hair.

Then he exhaled.

“I’m buying condoms in bulk,” he said. “Costco-level commitment. I’m going to have a rewards card.”

You burst out laughing into his hoodie.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I’m going to be the most prepared man in Massachusetts.”

“That’s not something to brag about.”

“It is after what I just survived.” He pulled back, still holding you. “Honestly, I may glue one to my dick.”

“Ew what? Please don’t.”

“Fine. Tape?”

“Dean.”

“Okay, no adhesives. I’m listening.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself.

Dean nodded, then brushed his thumb along your jaw.

“Next time you’re scared, you come to me before making me chase you around like a rejected frat boy.”

“You were kind of acting like one.”

For once, he seemed to actually think before speaking.

“I don’t want to do the casual thing if casual means you think you can’t call me when something matters,” he said.

Your heart shifted.

“You don’t?”

“No.” His mouth tipped into a small smile. “I like you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He winced. “That sounded sixth grade as hell. I’m aware.”

You laughed softly.

“I mean I like you,” he said. “Not just the fun parts. I like being here. I like that you steal my hoodies and pretend my jokes are worse than they are.”

“They are pretty bad.”

“And yet you laugh.” He leaned closer. “I want you. In a way where you don’t hide from me when things get complicated.”

You stared at him for a second.

“That sounds like dating.”

Dean gasped lightly. “Dating? Wow. Forward. Scandalous.”

“You brought it up.”

“I did not use the word dating. You did. But since you’re clearly obsessed with locking me down—”

“Dean.”

His grin softened. “Yeah. It sounds like dating.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Dean smiled so wide it made your chest ache.

“Great,” he said. “Cool. Very normal reaction from me.”

“You’re smiling like an idiot.”

“I got a girlfriend and a negative pregnancy test in the same night. This is elite emotional whiplash.”

You laughed, and he kissed your forehead.

A little later, you were curled against him in bed with the sour gummy worms between you and his hoodie still wrapped around your body. Dean held your hand under the blanket, his thumb moving slowly over your knuckles.

The fear had not completely vanished, but it no longer had you alone in a quiet apartment, staring at a phone you were too afraid to answer.

Now it had Dean beside you, warm and ridiculous and impossible.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Yeah?”

“I’m still ordering condoms tomorrow.”

You groaned. “Dean.”

“In bulk,” he said. “Costco-level commitment.”

“You don’t even have a Costco membership.”

“I’ll get one.” He kissed the top of your head. “I’m a provider now.”

“You provided gummy worms.”

“Emotional support worms,” he corrected.

You laughed into his chest, and Dean held you a little tighter.

For the first time in nine days, you finally believed him.

Hannah had silently wrapped blankets around your shoulders while Logan ordered enough takeout to feed an army, neither of them asking questions because they already knew the truth. They were two of the very few people who knew exactly what kind of man Phil Graham really was. The second time had come during Garrett's sophomore season during a game against Saint Anthony's after he took a brutal hit into the boards and broke his ankle.

So, now, whenever your phone lit up with another 911, every horrifying possibility imaginable crashed into your mind. You didn't remember grabbing your keys. You barely remembered sprinting out of your dorm. The drive to the Briar hockey house became a blur of red lights you definitely should've stopped for and speed limits you absolutely ignored. Your pulse pounded so violently against your ribs that it drowned out the music blasting through your speakers.

Please be okay.

Please let everyone be okay.

By some miracle, or sheer reckless determination, your Jeep screeched into the hockey house driveway in under five minutes. The engine hadn't even finished rumbling before you were out of the car. You bounded up the porch steps two at a time, shoved the front door open without knocking. Your breathing came in short, uneven bursts as your eyes swept frantically across the first floor, searching for blood, paramedics... anything.

Instead you were met with silence. Garrett, Beau, Logan, and Tucker stood shoulder to shoulder around the kitchen island, all four wearing expressions that ranged from concerned to thoroughly exasperated. Not a single one of them looked injured. They all looked far too relaxed. What the hell was happening? "Oh, thank God, she's here." Logan dragged a hand down his face, relief washing over his features.

Before you could demand an explanation, Garrett and Beau crossed the room. You reached your brother first, immediately grabbing both of his forearms. "I got your text," Your voice came out higher than you intended, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as your gaze traveled from his face to his shoulders, down his arms and legs, cataloging every inch of him for any kind of injuries. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He shook his head, making you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

"I'm fine," Garrett assured gently, giving your elbows a reassuring squeeze to still your frantic inspection. "Promise." Releasing your wrists he gestured toward the staircase with the exhausted resignation of a man who'd reached his breaking point. "It's your knucklehead boyfriend." That alone was enough to make you wary. Ever since Garrett had become captain of the Briar hockey team, he'd made one rule abundantly clear, none of his teammates were to date his little sister.

He'd delivered the threat with the same intensity he reserved for playoff games, and every guy in the locker room had been smart enough not to test him. Well, everyone except Dean Di Laurentis. By the time the two of you had finally stopped pretending the feelings between you didn't exist, Garrett had nearly blown a gasket. It had taken months of Dean shamelessly kissing his ass, both on and off the ice, before Garrett reluctantly accepted that this wasn't another one of Dean's flings.

Dean had retired his infamous manwhore reputation without a second thought the moment you'd become his girlfriend, and somehow he'd managed to do the impossible: convincing your overprotective brother that he genuinely loved you. That however, still hadn't stopped him from finding new and creative ways to irritate Garrett. Nearly two years later, Dean could still get under Garrett's skin without even trying, especially if it involved anything to do with you.

"Is he hurt?"

"No."

"Did he get into a fight?"

"No."

"Did he piss you off?"

"Yes!"

All four guys answered in perfect unison which made a laugh escape you before you could stop it. Then a raspy coughing fit echoed from upstairs, followed by an aggressively dramatic sniffle that was somehow even louder than the coughing. Garrett squeezed his eyes shut, every muscle in his jaw flexing. "Dean has a cold." Silence settled over the room. After a few moments, you looked from Garrett to Logan. Then Tucker. Then Beau. None of them looked like they were joking.

"You texted me 911 because Dean has a cold?" Beau let out a sharp bark of laughter at your words before scrubbing a hand down his face, frustration evident in his features. "Normally I'd think it's adorable. You know I love you two together, but, Christ…" He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking every bit as exhausted as Garrett. "He's being so fucking stubborn."

Logan nodded before jumping in. "He won't take his medicine unless you're the one handing it to him. Barely touched any food because apparently it doesn't count unless you bring it to him." You had to practically bite your lip in order to stop another laugh that threatened to escape. "He has been like this all day," Garrett grumbled, you could have sworn you saw his eye twitch. "Every five minutes it's 'Where's my girlfriend?' 'Can someone call my girlfriend?' 'I think I'm dying. My girlfriend should know.'"

"I never realized someone could weaponize the common cold." Tucker admitted shaking his head as he stirred what you assumed was chicken noddle soup from the delicious smell. "You should've heard him this morning," Beau added with a dramatic sigh. "'Beau, if I don't make it, tell her I loved her.'" Your heart, traitor that it was, performed a full somersault inside your chest. Even stuffed up, feverish, and completely delirious, Dean still wanted you. Only you.

Garrett pointed toward the stairs. "Please, go deal with your idiot boyfriend." You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing outright knowing it would infuriate Garrett even more. Without another thought, you headed for the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. As you reached Dean's bedroom, you knocked gently with the back of your knuckles. "Go away, G!" His voice carried through the wood, deep and rough from congestion, ending in a wet cough that sounded painful enough to make you wince.

A teasing smile tugged at your lips as you eased the door open, peeking your head inside. "I sure hope you mean my brother and not me," You teased softly. "I'd hate to have come all this way for nothing." Dean, who'd been curled into an impressive mound of blankets, turned sluggishly toward the sound of your voice. The transformation was immediate. His glassy, fever-heavy eyes widened before melting with unmistakable relief, exhaustion giving way to pure adoration.

"Babydoll." The nickname came out as little more than a dreamy sigh. Every ounce of misery on his face seemed to disappear the second he saw you. Well, almost every ounce. Your heart clenched painfully as you stepped fully into the room. Dean looked awful. His usually perfectly styled hair stuck out in every direction, flattened with sweat where it clung to his forehead. His cheeks were flushed a deep pink from the fever, while the tip of his nose had been rubbed so raw it was nearly the same shade.

Dark circles rested beneath bloodshot hazel eyes that struggled to stay open. He was shirtless despite being cocooned beneath two comforters, a sheen of sweat covering the broad planes of his chest and shoulders. A half-empty bottle of water, several packets of cough drops, a digital thermometer cluttered his nightstand. Used tissues surrounded the bed in messy little piles, some tossed toward the trash can with embarrassingly poor aim, others simply abandoned wherever they'd landed.

"Oh baby, you look absolutely miserable." You coaxed, gently shutting the door behind you. "I am miserable." His lower lip actually jutted out. Then, without the slightest hint of shame, he lifted both arms toward you. "Come here." Not a request, a demand. Or perhaps even a plea. Grabby hands opened and closed impatiently in your direction and your smile grew despite yourself. "Big, tough, hockey player, yet here you are being a big baby."

"Don't be mean, I have the plague."

"You have a cold."

A cough interrupted whatever dramatic speech he'd been preparing, forcing him to curl forward and cough into the crook of his elbow. By the time it subsided, he looked even more exhausted. You kicked off your shoes before crossing the room. The instant you were within reach, Dean's hands found your waist. With surprising strength for someone who'd apparently been on death's doorstep all day, he tugged you forward until you stumbled against the side of the mattress.

"There you are, missed you so much." He mumbled, sounding infinitely more content as he placed a chaste kiss to your clothed shoulder. Your chest warmed at the affection, as he buried his face against your stomach with a relieved sigh, wrapping both arms around your waist like he was afraid someone might steal you away. His warm cheek pressed against your shirt, and despite the fever radiating from him, he melted into your touch the moment your fingers threaded through his damp hair.

"Everything already feels better." He whispered, eyes fluttering closed. "You've been giving the guys a hard time, haven't you?" You felt him shrug against you, his face showcasing the perfect picture of innocence. "I've been perfectly pleasant." A loud, disbelieving snort drifted up from downstairs, followed immediately by Garrett's voice. "FUCKING LIAR!" Dean didn't even bother lifting his head. "They're exaggerating." You laughed so hard you had to bite your lip.

"Beau told me you refused your medicine."

"I was waiting for you."

"Logan offered you soup."

"It wasn't your soup."

"Tucker made grilled cheese."

"Grilled cheese isn't Tuck's strong suit."

That was a complete and total lie and you knew he knew it.

"You are unbelievable."

"So I've been told."

His arms tightened around your waist, followed by another sleepy sigh that sounded almost blissful.

"I missed you, babydoll."

"I've only been gone since this morning."

"Longest day of my life."

His voice had gone quieter now, rough with exhaustion rather than theatrics. "I just wanted my girl." The confession, so simple and so genuinely vulnerable, melted of whatever amusement remained. You leaned down to press a lingering kiss against his warm forehead before brushing another across the bridge of his reddened nose. "I'm here now." Dean hummed happily, his entire body relaxing. "Yeah, you are." He murmured, already sounding sleepier than before.