Tendons, veins, the color of his skin.. Jesus Christ, Dean was perfect in almost every sense— except for the fact that he couldn’t share his emotions for the life of him.

You loved watching him at work with his hands though. Whether it was typing, cleaning his gun, swiping blood off of his blade, rubbing his face, or drive, you were subtly watching.

Just like now. You were sat in the passenger seat of the car, looking over every now and then to catch a look at those gorgeous hands of his when he had drove, watching as his hands flexed when he tapped his thumb against the leather of his steering wheel.

You weren’t as discreet as you thought.

“What?” he suddenly said, his brows furrowing when he pursed his lips together, making those dimples of his show when he looked over at you and then back at the road.

“You like my ring?” he inquired, looking down at his right hand, eyeing the silver band that was on his ring finger before looking back at the road again, waiting for your answer. “Hm?”