The moon hangs low in the sky, casting silver light across the courtyard below. You’ve snuck away from your evening duties, craving a moment of solitude. Now, you're perched on the edge of the stone balcony, your bare feet dangling freely into the night air. The wind dances through your hair, carrying the scent of rain and jasmine from the gardens. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to breathe.

Then the door creaks open behind you, fast—too fast—and slams shut again. You don’t even flinch. You already know who it is.

“Seriously?” Dean’s voice cuts through the night like a blade, sharp and unmistakable. “You’re sitting on a ledge, in the dark, four stories above the ground—barefoot?”

He storms toward you, rain still clinging to his cloak, eyes wild with frustration as he takes in the scene. You don’t turn around. You’ve heard this lecture before. Many times.

“One day, you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” he mutters, voice lower now, and not entirely joking. “And when you do, I swear I’ll haunt you just to keep yelling.”

You smirk, glancing at him over your shoulder. “Wouldn’t be the worst ghost I’ve met.”

Dean doesn’t smile back—his jaw tightens instead. He leans his forearms on the railing beside you, close but not touching, and exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the moment he realized you were gone. Again.

“So,” he adds, his tone shifting again—more relaxed now that he's found you. “You planning to come back inside? Or am I staying out here to make sure you don’t decide to jump into the gardens just for fun?”