The statement makes Dean freeze, something like anger washing through him, but he can't afford to get pissed off again. One look at Seth's bloodied face tells him that. And yet, even as Dean clenches his fists and tries his hardest to breathe and control his anger, he can feel it spiraling out of control already.

"What?"

"I said you're really hot when you're angry."

A silence stretches between them, and Seth shifts a little and reaches up to toy with the strands of hair at the back of Dean's head. Dean twitches a little, fighting the urge to pull Seth's hands out of his hair, because now this feels wrong. Feels like he's walking into yet another trap, but this one is a death sentence.

"Seth," he says, trying to keep his voice calm, because if they get into another fight he knows this one definitely won't end well, "are you trying to tell me you started saying those things because you wanted to piss me off?"

"Uh… yeah, I guess," Seth responds, sounding a little bit distracted. Dean knows what he wants, can feel the heat of his body all over him, can feel the weight of Seth's staring, but he refuses to give in.

"Did you really sleep with Roman, then?"

Seth looks away, huffs out a short, sharp laugh that sounds the way Dean feels right now.

"No," he admits. "I mean, I think I did make up with him. But we didn't do anything."

Dean says nothing, and after another silence passes, heavy and thick, Seth's gaze meets his, eyes insistent and searching, almost pleading.

"Do you believe me?" Seth asks.

And that's the fucking question of the year. Dean wants to believe him, but at the same time, he doesn't think he does. And even if it's true, Dean nearly killed Seth just because Seth apparently wanted to see what he was like when he was angry.

Dean chews on his lip, pressing his palms into the wall, idly hoping that he'll find a rough spot that'll cut them open and make them bleed, because that would say more to Seth than words could right now.

"No," Dean finally says, voice rough. "I don't believe you."

And he watches as Seth's face falls, watches as Seth's body language changes until he's more like a child cowering away from punishment than a flirtatious twenty-something.

Something inside of Dean aches.

Dean pushes off the wall, stepping back and creating some distance between himself and Seth. Seth doesn't react, and Dean tries to ignore the voice inside him, telling him that stepping away from Seth was an even worse decision than getting physically entangled with him.

He doesn't know what he wants anymore.

He thinks he wants Roman, but he thinks also wants Seth, and sometimes in the hours where the sky outside his apartment is pitch-black and the streets are nearly empty and the world should be sleeping, Dean's awake, sitting on the floor thinking about how fucked-up his life has gotten, and how he feels like a confused little boy in the fact that he wants both of them and he doesn't understand why he can't get what he wants.

It's not until he falls asleep thinking and wakes up only a few hours later, groggy and dazed as the sunlight streams in through a dirty window, that he remembers he can't get what he wants because he's Dean Ambrose, and life has dealt him its shittiest hand.

Right now, he thinks he needs to find Roman and have a nice, long talk with him.

"Do you want me to clean your face or can you do it yourself?" Dean asks. He doesn't really trust leaving Seth on his own right now. Seth could tattle, or he might walk out the gas station door and end up completely lost, end up going five miles in the wrong direction, and Dean will get a call saying 'What'd you do to our champion, our star?' and he'll get fired even if he's not responsible for Seth wandering off.

Seth doesn't answer him, and Dean sighs impatiently. "Seth, come on. You need to get back to FCW, but you can't walk in the door with your face looking like – well, like I just beat it in."

He cringes a little as he says it, but it's the unwelcome truth.

"Go away," Seth finally mutters. Dean rolls his eyes; he's definitely not in the mood to put up with Seth acting like a brat.

"Fine, I'll do it for you," Dean says, walking to the sink and grabbing a handful of paper towels, then soaking them in the water from the faucet after he turns it on. He turns the faucet off and walks back to Seth, reaching for his face.

"Don't touch me," Seth says immediately, shifting so the lines of his body are tense, angry.

"Seth—"

"Leave me alone."

There's venom there that Dean's never heard before, so he concedes.

"Fine," he says, leaving the wet bundle of paper towels on the edge of the sink. His mind is telling him not to leave Seth—he can't be trusted on his own—but being stuck in this small room with Seth for this long with the tension in the air is slowly chipping away at whatever sanity he has left.

Dean walks to the door and unlocks it, pausing with his hand on the handle. He turns slightly, glancing at Seth, who hasn't moved.

"I'm sorry," Dean says, and it comes out softer than he intended, more like a whisper. It sounds wrong on his tongue, and he's not even sure what he's apologizing for.

Seth doesn't react, so Dean opens the door and steps out, letting it close on its own behind him.

The soft click sounds like the end.

Of what, he's not so sure.