Dean heard the key in the door. While his whole body felt lead heavy, he mustered the strength to rise out of the butt impression he had worked on for the last 3 hours, watching re-runs of "Beverly Hills 90210."
His ratty old undershirt released a pungent odor as he realized he'd been sweating. He reeked of sad sweat. Whatever. That was the least of his problems now. She was here to end it. Tux not necessary.
"Hi Dean," she practically whispered. Her eyes looked red, as though she'd been crying. He felt the way her eyes looked.
"Hi Lorelai," he offered with a most defeated tone.
"Sorry I didn't call or text. I thought maybe you wouldn't respond after I just walked away today. I see you rescued that old tee from the trash, and maybe you didn't get a chance to wash it yet?" Her nose furled as she caught a whiff. Dean pulled the shirt off and whipped it at the wall.
"Yeah, I kinda feel smelly, like the shirt right now. Sorry for the offense. Lorelai, I was coming back from…"
"Yeah, I figured. I'm so happy for you. I'm so proud of you," she said as she stepped toward him and pulled him into an awkward hug.
Dean slowly wrapped his arms around her waist and sunk into her shoulder, unable to stop himself from releasing a few sobs. They remained this way for what was beginning to feel like infinity. Neither wanted to let go.
Lorelai spotted his iPod on the speaker, she released him, walked over, queued up "Pictures of You" by the Cure, and they sank onto the sofa, wrapped in each other's arms as the song strained on.
There was nothing in the world
That I ever wanted more
Than to never feel the breaking apart
All my pictures of you