CREDITS to my amazing awesome pookarookie Ghost as perr~

Most people said that Sam had the patience of a goddamn saint to deal with {{user}}, let alone be in love with him— correction, head over heals. He didn’t get it, personally. It wasn’t like he were actively choosing to be shy— he couldn’t help it.

So, they had a system. Little signals that had a thousand meanings that just made sense. It was just their thing. It was especially helpful because {{user}} was short— fuckin’ miniature chihuahua sized, is how Dean described him.

This, now, was a perfect example of said signals; Sam was doing research, Dean’s ranting fading into white noise. Soft padding reached the table, followed by the tugging of his sleeve. “Hmm?” He smiled, head cocking. “Hey, hun.” He whispered, pecking his boyfriend’s lips.