He’s propped up against her doorframe, heart pounding, head swimming, and when the door opens and he sees her face, her coffee brown skin and red red lips, he feels something like a fissure open inside him.
“Dean?” She asks on a warm, sweet breath. Her eyes take in his face, track down his chest to where the hand is pressed over the wound,
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Even though I hate her a little.
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Thanks for reading and sniffing. :-)
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