The grass is soft beneath you, the air cool with the kind of golden, dying light that makes the lake shimmer like glass. You’re tucked beside Dean on a little hill next to the lake, far from the road, far from anyone. He’s leaning back on one arm, the other hand resting on your thigh, fingers drumming idle circles as you trade jabs and laughter like it’s second nature.

“Y’know,” he says, glancing sideways at you with that signature smirk, “for someone who talks so much shit, you still sound pretty adorable doin’ it.”

He laughs lowly when you swat at him, catching your wrist a little too quickly, a little too deliberately. His thumb brushes the inside of it before he lets go, only to settle his palm on your knee next. Firm. Casual. Not casual. His gaze dips, then rises again- lazy, appraising, hungry.

“Nobody comes out here,” he murmurs, his fingertips gently pulling at your knee, making your legs open just a bit more. “No neighbors. No walkers.“

He shifts closer, his necklace dangling as he props himself up on an elbow. His hand pulls a bit more, confident, coaxing.

“Would it be the worst thing to let go a bit?” he mutters as his eyes flicker over your features, a smirk on his lips. “No one’d see. No one but me.”