You knew he’d be here.

You knew before you even walked through the door, before your eyes landed on that familiar broad-shouldered figure leaning against the bar, his presence filling the room like he owned it. Dean Winchester always had a way of making himself the center of attention—even when he wasn’t trying. Especially when he wasn’t trying.

It used to be one of the things you loved about him. Now? It’s just another reminder of why you left.

You hesitate in the doorway, telling yourself you could turn around right now, walk out, pretend you never saw him. But you don’t.

And of course, because his damn radar for you has always been too good, his head tilts slightly—like he feels you before he even sees you. Then his gaze finds yours, sharp and knowing, and the second he spots you, that easygoing smirk tugs at his lips. Smug. Self-assured. Infuriating.

He lifts his beer in a mock toast. “Well, well. If it ain’t the ghost of bad decisions past.”

You scoff, stepping further inside. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.”

Dean chuckles, the sound low and rich with amusement, like this is just another game the two of you play. “So, what’s the deal? You see my car outside and just had to come in? Feeling nostalgic?”

“Not even close,” you shoot back, sliding onto a stool a few seats away—not that it’ll stop him from closing the distance. “Believe it or not, I don’t schedule my nights around where your stupid car is parked.”

Dean places a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “Ouch. And here I thought you were still carrying a torch for me.”

You roll your eyes. “Please. You think every song’s about you, don’t you?”

His grin deepens, the kind that used to make your stomach flip—back when you didn’t know better. “Only the good ones, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, but the weight of history between you settles in, thick and suffocating. Because the truth is, there was a time when you loved him. When you hung on every word, when he made you feel like you were the only person in the world.