♯┆DEAN WITHERS 04 .ᐟ
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It was nearly 2 a.m., and the only light in your room came from your laptop screen. Dean’s face filled the display — stretched out on his own bed miles away, hair messy, voice already slowing with sleep.
Neither of you had hung up, even after the conversation died down. You didn’t need the words. Just the sound of his breathing. Just the quiet proof that he was still there.
“You’re still awake?” he mumbled, eyes barely open.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “Didn’t want to hang up.”
He smiled lazily. “Me either.”
You shifted under your blanket, tucking your face deeper into your pillow so he could only see part of you on screen. “I wish you were here.”
“I know,” he said. “I’d hold you so tight you wouldn’t even remember what alone feels like.”
You smiled despite yourself. “That cheesy on purpose?”
“Obviously.”
There was a pause.
“I don’t say it enough,” you said quietly, “but I really love you, Dean.”
His eyes opened just enough to meet yours through the screen.
“You say it more than you think,” he replied. “Even when you don’t. I hear it in everything.”
You didn’t know how to respond, so you just watched him — the rise and fall of his chest, the softness in his voice, the way he waited for you to fall asleep first.
Eventually, you did. And the call stayed connected until morning.
⋆⁺。˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚。⁺⋆