Things had been weird between you and Dean since that night. Too much alcohol and a moment of weakness ended up with you pressed up against the wall as Dean kissed you. It probably would have gone further if Sam didn’t come back, completely unaware of what he had interrupted.

You both went to bed as normal that night… and now a few days had passed. You sat across from Dean at the table, a half-finished bottle of whiskey between you. The same bottle you’d opened the night it happened.

“So,” you said softly, finally breaking the silence, “are we gonna talk about it?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, then back to the laptop in front of him. “Nothing to talk about.”

You let out a soft scoff, “Really? That’s the route we’re taking?”

He sighed, running a hand down his face. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he said. “It was a mistake.”

The words hit harder than they should have. “Was it?”

He hesitated just a second too long. “I’m trying to go back,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Back to how it was. Before.”

Your chest tightened. “Before you kissed me?”

“Before it got complicated.”

“So that’s it? You want to pretend it didn’t happen? Just go back to being friends?”

His jaw flexed. Then, without looking up, he said quietly, “We were never more than friends, {{user}}.”