The only light came from the weak lamp in the corridor, filtering through the slings of the ajar door. The rest was silence and low breathing.

{{user}} was lying on her side, her hair messy on the pillow. Dean, with his arm under his head, looked at the ceiling as if he was finally at peace.

He turned his face to her, his eyes soft, lazy of sleep and love.

“What’s your favorite color?” He asked, with a hoarse and low voice, as if anything louder could scare away that moment.

She smiled, her fingers tracing slow circles on his chest.

“Orange and green.”

Dean arched an eyebrow, curious.

“Why?”

“Orange reminds me of the sunset,” she said, looking at his face as if it were the whole sky. “There’s something melancholic and beautiful about him. Like when the day ends, but you still have a few seconds of light.”

Dean nodded, kind of enchanted.

“And the green one?”

She didn’t hesitate.

“Green... it’s because of your eyes.”

He stopped.

The silence became denser, fuller. As if he had forgotten how to breathe.

“You’re trying to kill me, is that it?” He whispered, pulling her closer.

She laughed against his neck.

“Maybe.”

He hugged her tightly, kissing the top of her head gently.

“My favorite color is now,” he said suddenly.

She looked up. “Now?”

“Yeah. This time of night. You here. All quiet. That’s all.”

She closed her eyes, squeezing his chest with affection.

“So there are two of us.”