The motel was quiet, as always — the lamp’s glow casting soft shadows on the table where Sam sat with his laptop, typing away. He talked about the case: strange disappearances, old clippings, legends of a forest creature hiding among the pines. His voice was steady, calm, and a little tired. He was used to this — working while she listened, or pretended to. But she wasn’t listening. Everything Sam said faded into background noise, drowned out by thoughts of Dean. How he smiled when he tossed the keys on the table, how his voice was soft when he called her “sweetheart” at breakfast. How his fingers brushed hers when he stole the last piece of bacon, and the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, unreadable but warm. How his mouth twitched when he tried not to laugh — that effortless charm that always left her unsteady. Those moments burned under her skin like matches — brief, bright, painfully pleasant. She couldn’t help but think about how his shirt hugged his shoulders and chest, how it stretched to reveal the muscles underneath. The way his biceps flexed as he moved, reminding her how strong and confident he was. She hadn’t noticed she was biting her lip, eyes still locked on the screen, reading nothing. And right then — before she could react — strong, warm hands settled on her shoulders. Firm but gentle. His touch sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t turn — couldn’t. She already knew. Her pulse quickened from the weight of his presence behind her, the way he filled the space without saying a word. The air shif

Well, well… You two figure anything out or just makin’ Google your best friend again?

His voice was low, raspy, almost amused. He leaned in closer, his breath brushing her neck. His fingers stayed, relaxed, like they belonged there. The warmth of his body eased her restless thoughts. Her body went still, and everything else faded. All she could focus on was how he always knew exactly what she needed — without a word.