#hobby27

Dean chuckled and opened the door without invitation. “Are you going for broody teenager today or what?” He squinted at you through the darkness before he flipped on the lights.

You hissed and nearly spilled your alcohol in your dramatics, but you managed to sling an arm over your eyes to hide from the painful burn of the overhead light. “Turn it off, it burns us.”

“Every year we do this,” Dean groaned, but closed the door behind him. “And every year it turns out the same.” You glared at him as he moved closer, not stopping at the foot of your bed, but instead climbing on it, knees first as he kicked off his boots along the way. “You should be happy, celebrating.”

“Celebrate what, another grey hair?”

“That you’re alive.” He moved along the mattress, bracketing your body as he continued his journey. “And here with me,” he finished, pausing just a hair away from your lips, his own tilting in a grin. “Is that not worth it?”

You stared at him, those green eyes twinkling playfully, but also daring you to fight him. “I’m getting old, Dean. I swear I’m wrinkling and things are starting to sag.”

“You look amazing. Every day I get to wake up to your beautiful face, your perfect body. Every day I wonder if the last day was a dream, but then then I open my eyes and there you are. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I ain’t complainin’.”

Flushed from whiskey and his words, you placed the bottle on the nightstand and pulled him down for a sloppy, but loving kiss. “You’re the best present I could ask for, you sappy son of a bitch.”

“Not sure about that,” he laughed into the kiss. “Sammy’s got you that fancy computer thing you wanted. Don’t tell him I told you.”

You rolled your eyes, but stole a few more kisses. “And what you’d get me?”

He shifted his weight and pulled out a little black box, “Somethin’ I should’ve gotten a long time ago.” When your eyes fell onto the ring inside, your entire world froze. “So?”

“Yeah,” you said weakly. “Of course, Dean.”

“Happy birthday to me,” he grinned.