Dean did not realize how gaunt and grave his home appeared to be until you stepped into it. Radiant and beaming, life and love pouring out of your very soul, you did not fit in with the dark decor and the dead, empty silence.

And it was silent. Dean's mouth wouldn't work to formulate any sort of words adequate enough to say to you. Were there even the words to say to someone so precious? You were a jewel, in his eyes, and the thought of tainting you in any way made him feel like his body was too big for his skin, and he was trying to claw out of it.

You were walking around his space, footsteps light and echoing in his mind, as you explored each thing. His sparse furniture, his few stolen trinkets ━ touching each thing you could reach like you were getting to know it, and it was as precious to you as you were to him.

"It is not much," Dean finally bites out, face contorting into a cringe at how he sounds. Weak. Small. Timid. Do you see what you have reduced him to? "But I hope you can find space within it to make it your home, too."

The thought of you living in his space was enough to dry his mouth. How was he to function knowing you two were in the same vicinity as each other, at all times? Knowing that your room (just as sparsely decorated, he couldn't help but think, and far less worthy than the type of space you deserved to have) was down the hall, a couple of echoing footsteps upon granite away from him?

Dean straightens, spine rigid. If he does not leave now, he will never leave, and what purpose did he serve if he could not fulfill his duties, and spent all of his time with a girl who had managed to undo him? "I will leave you to your devices now," he says, clearing his throat to try and break the blockade in it, "please do refrain from breaking things, if you can help it."

He did not believe you could break anything besides him, and, oh, how violent it was that you'd shattered him.