The motel room was quiet, too quiet for the usual chaos of your life. Neither you nor Dean were asleep.

Dean lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing, circling around thoughts he couldn't quite escape. He turned his head slightly, glancing over at the other bed.

You were still awake, lying on your side, eyes wide open, gazing into the dark.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, the stress of the coming apocalypse gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. The end was near; you both knew it.

But it wasn't just the weight of the world bearing down on him—there was something else. Something that had been growing over the last few weeks, even if neither of you had dared to say it out loud.

He'd never fallen so hard for someone before. And neither had you. The way things had changed between you and Dean lately—how you seemed to find yourselves just a little bit closer, a little bit more connected, even when the world around you was falling apart—it had him questioning everything.

His heart clenched. He didn't know how to do this. He didn't know how to admit it, especially not with everything at stake.

What if you didn’t make it through? What if one of you didn’t? The idea of leaving things unsaid was almost unbearable, but was it better to say nothing at all than risk losing it all? He wasn't sure anymore.

He shifted again, trying to get comfortable, but the bed seemed too small. Everything felt too small. He glanced at you again, his pulse picking up when your eyes met.

And that's when his tendency to speak before he thinks really fucks him over.

"Hey. I gotta tell you something," Dean murmured, his quiet voice sounding painfully loud in the silent room.