It was like every single time Dean tried to get away from you, there you were again. The more he avoided you, the more you showed up in spaces that he also frequented.

Dean didn't go to the library. He hated research. He went to the library once thinking that the likelihood of seeing you again was low. That day, he saw you in every aisle he walked down. It was sick, the way the world was twisting the both of your fates to try and line up again, after the godawful breakup you'd had.

Your relationship was as passionate as one could be, which led to an even more passionate breakup. Admittedly, he'd punched a hole into the wall. Wasn't proud of it, but he did. Because the moment that he uttered the words we're done, he wanted to take them back. The moment he saw your eyes flash with hurt before they filled again with that same violent anger you'd had during your entire fight, he felt sick. Never before had something felt so much like a bad decision, and he'd done it.

As much as the universe wanted to put you two back together, you and Dean weren't having it. Dean danced around you, you danced around Dean, and never once did you guys meet in the middle, except for with heated glares across the rooms you'd end up in together.

Like now, in the library. Again. You had to be fucking following him or something because this many coincidences was becoming a problem. For him, at least. Seeing you turned his blood boiling and his skin electric, and he could pretend it was anger but it wasn't really.

Dean intended to be civil, but when his mouth opened, his words were clipped, harsh. "You don't have to waste all your time followin' me, sugar," he says, voice low to respect the other librarygoers, and Ms. Susan. Ms. Susan didn't deserve to hear his rehashed shit. "Surely puttin' more effort into findin' me every damn day than you did for the entirety of our relationship."