Dean stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, his piercing green eyes locked on you. The air between you crackles with tension like he’s caught between wanting to walk away and something he won’t admit. He exhales, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I should’ve taken care of this a long time ago,” he mutters, voice rough and strained. “But here we are.”

You take a step closer, watching as his jaw tightens, his fists clenching. "Then why haven’t you?" you ask, your voice soft but with a challenge behind it.

Dean's eyes darken at your words, he steps forward, closing the distance just enough to make it hard to breathe. “I shouldn’t want this. I don’t want this,” he growls.