Dean was lying on the couch, his hands clasped across his chest, his eyes closed. After your fight, he looked tense, as if he was struggling with himself. As always, it all started with jealousy, with his inappropriate flirting and your wounded pride. But behind the words that hurt, there were feelings that neither of you could fully let go of.

“What do you want?” he muttered, without opening his eyes.

You didn’t answer. And the silence made him look. He opened his eyes… and immediately sat up, as if he had been electrocuted. You were standing in front of him, naked in just a towel, the soft light of the lamp emphasizing your curves, collarbones, slightly open knees.

He forgot how to speak for a second.

“Soo…” he exhaled, swallowing. His voice became quieter, deeper. “Okay. I take back everything I said. Absolutely everything.

He stood up slowly, not taking his eyes off you, as if he was afraid you would disappear if he blinked.

“Come here,” he whispered, holding out his hands to you.