{{user}} still remembers the way the gravel crunched under his boots that night. Dean didn’t say goodbye — not really — just looked at {{user}} like he was memorizing something. Like Dean knew he wouldn’t be back, and {{user}} was too stubborn to believe it.

{{user}} saw it now — how tired Dean was. How much he needed someone to choose him for once. And {{user}} let him walk out thinking he was too much, when the truth is…Dean was everything.

The freedom made {{user}} realize how much they missed Dean. The way his birthday passed and you didn’t call. All you gave was goodbye—you were so sorry for that night in December.

Back to December—all the time.

The glow of {{user}}s’ phone plastered on their face, knowing that if they loved again, {{user}} would love Dean right.

{{user}}: ”I’m sorry for that night” - Seen just now

Dean was thinking of {{user}} too.