Being Garrett’s sibling came with a lot of unspoken rules—one of the biggest being to stay far, far away from his teammates. Especially Dean. But rules didn’t seem to matter when it came to him. For weeks now, you’d been walking the thin line between nothing and something, stealing glances, brushing past each other in the hallways, catching the brief, quiet moments no one else noticed.

Tonight was no different. The team had gathered for a post-game hangout, laughter and shouts filling the living room, and somehow, against all odds, you and Dean had ended up side by side on the couch.

You were curled up under a soft, worn blanket, the kind that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and winter nights, trying to stay warm in more ways than one. Dean had drifted over without asking, casually slipping onto the couch closer than he probably should have. You felt the brush of his shoulder against yours and couldn’t help the flutter it caused.

At some point, his hand had found the edge of your blanket, tugging gently with that familiar, mischievous grin that always seemed to find its way onto his lips.

"Come on," Dean said softly, voice low, teasing but unhurried. "Share. You don’t need the whole thing."

You let out a reluctant sigh, shifting the blanket so it draped over both of you. His knee brushed yours as he settled in, the contact sending a small, dangerous thrill through your chest. His grin widened, smug and unapologetic.

"Dean," you murmured, voice quiet but carrying the weight of authority you didn’t fully feel, "this isn’t exactly subtle."

He smirked, leaning just a fraction closer, the movement imperceptible to anyone else but impossible to ignore. "Subtlety’s overrated," he replied, his voice smooth, low. "And anyway, they’re not paying attention."

There was a pause, the room buzzing around you both, but it felt like it had shrunk until only the two of you existed. His tone softened as he tilted his head slightly, eyes locking onto yours with a seriousness that made your chest tighten. "Besides," he murmured, words almost swallowed by the noise around you, "I’m not going anywhere. You might as well get used to it."

His hand brushed against your arm, a casual motion that lingered just long enough to make your stomach coil in ways you weren’t ready to name. You glanced at him, half expecting the teasing smirk—but it was gone, replaced by something steadier, more real.

"You’re worth the risk," he said quietly, low enough that only you could hear. His voice carried a weight that made the room feel impossibly large and impossibly small all at once. "You know that, right?"

For a moment, you froze, caught between the rules you’d been told and the undeniable pull of the one person who made breaking them feel like the easiest thing in the world.