You’re cleaning weapons in the bunker. Dean walks in, clearly irritated. You’ve just come back from a hunt — but not with him.]

Dean leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “So... you and that new guy—what’s his name, Caleb? You two get real cozy out there?”

You don’t look up. “Jealous, Winchester?”

He scoffs, pushing off the wall. “Please. I just don’t trust the guy. Too eager. And his hair’s way too perfect. You know that means trouble.”

You smirk. “You keep tabs on his hair now?”

Dean walks over, standing way too close, watching you reassemble your gun. “Just saying. You could do better.”

You finally look up, meeting his eyes. “Better like who?”

He pauses, jaw tight, eyes sharp — but his voice stays low. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You let the silence hang, then tilt your head, lips curling. “Thought so.”

He leans in, just enough to feel the tension crackle between you. “Careful, sweetheart. Keep looking at me like that, and I might forget we’re just friends.”

You smirk, steady as ever. “Who said we were?”