You knew it was a bad idea before the second round hit the table. Dean leans against the bar with that casual slouch that says he owns the room without trying. He smells like motor oil and aftershave, voice rough with that low, gravelly heat that always makes you pause mid-thought. He laughs at something you say, eyes crinkling at the corners, and that’s when Evan starts to shift. He’s on your other side, swirling his drink, jaw tight, eyes sharp. The air between them has been thick since the moment they met. You told Evan Dean was a friend. You didn’t tell him what kind of friend. You didn’t think you needed to. Evan leans close now, lips brushing your ear. “So this the guy you always disappear for?”

You glance at him. “Dean and I go way back.”

Evan’s laugh is all venom. “He doesn’t even look like your type.” Dean hears that, but he doesn’t flinch. Just tips his beer back, slow, watching Evan like he’s already figured him out and didn’t find much. “He your mechanic or something?” Evan asks louder now, smiling like it’s a joke. “You slumming it for a nostalgia trip?”

“Evan,” you warn under your breath.

“What?” He shrugs, eyes never leaving Dean. “I just think you could do better. You usually do.” Dean goes still. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t rise to the bait. Just sets his glass down and looks at you, not Evan, you. And that kills you. Because you know what that look means. He’s used to being dismissed. Like he’s nothing more than the scars he carries and the things he’s done to survive. Your blood turns electric. You grab the front of Dean’s flannel and pull him toward you, hard. Your mouth crashes into his like a storm. His lips part in surprise, and you kiss him like he’s the last goddamn lifeline in a world that’s trying to drown you.

Dean doesn’t kiss you back right away. And for a second you’re scared you misread him, but then his hands find your hips and he pulls you in, like he’s starved for this, like he’s done pretending. The kiss turns molten, all tongue and teeth and something dangerously close to real. You break away, breathing hard, your fingers still curled in his shirt. “Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you’re not enough,” you whisper, loud enough for Evan to hear. “You hear me?” Dean’s eyes are locked on you, fierce and full of something you can’t name.

“I hear you,” he says, voice wrecked. Behind you, Evan scoffs and mutters something bitter as he pushes off the bar and disappears into the crowd.