Hey, guys! Here's the next chapter for you. Fluffy goodness as well as a bit of drama, because our Lunatic Fringe can never be completely out of trouble, can he? ;)

Oh, and for those of you who follow my Shield 2.0 story, I'm taking a break on that particular project for now. The ending is coming up for it really fast, and I want the time to execute a good ending instead of shoving any crap your way. My readers deserve my best work. :)

Enjoy~

If one month ago, someone had told Roman he'd be waking up one morning with his musician, the love of his life, in his arms in his own bed after that kind of night together, he would have asked for the number of said someone's drug dealer to find out what kind of crack they were smoking to put them in such a loco state of belief.

Roman awoke before Dean. Dean was still in his arms, eyes closed in a serene reverie, having not run off at some point in the night. The room was cold. Roman drew the blanket over his shoulders and restrengthened his grip around Dean. He kissed Dean's hair gently. He wondered what Dean was dreaming about.

He felt quite refreshed, as though he'd been asleep for days instead of hours. Revitalized, soothed, happy.

Happy, above all.

Who needed drugs of any kind when being this happy was achievable for a human, even one so anxious and insecure as he?

Achievable. More than enough.

Roman held Dean in bed, eyes closed without falling into sleep again. He knew he'd have to get up at some point and get to work. He realized with a pain in his head that today he'd have to report in even earlier, to reimburse Dolph for covering him a few days ago. Getting his phone was not a feasible task at the moment. Not without bumming himself out by letting go of Dean.

Roman kissed Dean's hair again. God, he loved Dean. God, God, God, Almighty Lord of heaven, he loved Dean. Why had he been so afraid of falling in love before? How silly he'd been. How frightful like a child, afraid to feel. He was open now, exposed, his soul stripped bare for the world to see. He wanted to climb a mountain and shout to the world what he felt for Dean.

That, however, was no feasible task, either.

Dean groaned, shifting in his sleep. Roman watched his eyes flit open. He blinked sleep away, mouth stretched into a yawn. He glanced up at Roman and said with a tired smile, "Morning."

"Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Best I've slept in years," Dean said. "What time is it?"

"No idea."

Dean was the clearly the smart one today. He looked over at Roman's alarm clock, behind Roman's muscular back. "Eleven fifty-two."

"Are you serious?" Roman was surprised. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in, by willingness or not.

"Yup. That was a good sleep."

"I don't want to go to work," Roman grumbled.

Dean spun onto his other side so he was facing Roman. "Call in sick."

"Wish I could. I'm helping cover Dolph today, though."

"Oh, yeah. Look at you, being all devoted to your promises."

"Yeah. You're making it real hard for me to wanna keep that promise, though." Roman could feel his cock gearing up for round two with Dean, just taking in the sight of his heated yet goosebumps-ridden body so close to his own.

"Oh, I could make it a lot harder." Dean grinned. Whether or not he was aware of the pun was unclear. He put a firm hand on Roman's hipbone. Calloused fingers massaged the prickling flesh there. Roman was so weak. He hated his job at that moment. Hated it more than anything in the world. Dean pushed forward, binding Roman's lips in a near unbreakable spell.

"Trust me," Roman groaned, "there's nothing more in the world I'd rather do than lay here with you all day."

"We might get bored after a while, though."

"I doubt it."

"Yeah, me too." That cocky grin of his was so goddamn compulsive, it drove Roman mad. Dean kissed him again, quicker, harder. Then he pushed the blanket off, revealing his nude figure once more in full. "But I'm not gonna be the one who gets you fired. Playing on Thursday nights would be really boring without you there." He strode towards the closet. Roman wasn't able to resist checking him out on his way. "Mind if I steal just one more outfit from you? I'll probably need to go home and get my own clothes at some point, but…"

"I don't mind."

"Great. Thanks."

"Can I tell you something, though?" Roman asked, pushing out of bed himself.

"Sure. Oh, wait, is it that you're actually a secret service agent here to bust me for my involvement with the Wyatts? Because I swear, it was a one-time thing and I'm not going back to that life."

"Shoot, that's exactly what I was going to tell you. What am I supposed to do with these handcuffs?"

Dean shot a that devilish little grin back at him again. Roman was a swish of his hair away from tackling him to the floor, throwing work to hell, and making love to him again. "What is it?" He pushed through a long row of nerdy shirts. Roman didn't wear much else. Plain shirts for work, geeky attire for his own innocent pleasure.

"I had a massive crush on you long before I knew who you were."

"Did you, now?"

"Yeah. I looked forward to those Thursday nights because I knew I'd get to see you."

Roman caught the side of Dean's face. Was he blushing? Had Roman actually gotten his Lunatic Fringe to redden? "Thanks, Ro. That's really sweet of you to say."

"It's true."

"I'm not used to that."

"Really? You?"

"Not much of a ladies' man, Ro. Now, definitely not." Dean wrestled a white shirt off a hanger. "You were quite the looker yourself." He grinned at the shirt's art. It was Roman's newest shirt, the Spider-Man reading his own comic.

"Were?" Roman teased.

"Are. Forever will be."

"Aw."

Dean pulled the shirt on over his cut chest. It was a little big on him—extra-large had been Roman's only option in the purchase—but the size difference made Dean that much more adorable.

I'm a wreck. And I'm okay with that.

"What time do you work?"

"One."

"We have time for some breakfast."

"I don't have much around here," Roman said, wincing.

Dean made Roman laugh by browsing through his hanging pants and jeans next. "Maybe we could hit up the Wayside Cafe."

"Will we have time?"

Dean put a thumb to his lips. "Maybe not."

"Tell you what. We'll grab something at Java Central. I can use my discount, and you can have as many muffins as you want."

"Oh, you're paying this time? Such a gentleman."

"That sounds like a plan." Roman stepped into a littered pair of jeans.

He heard a slam outside his bedroom door.

Dean's face lost all its color. "The hell was that?"

Roman's protective side kicked in. He stepped in front of Dean, grabbed his pocketknife from the desk, and put a hand on the doorknob. He pulled the door open with a grunt and jumped out of his bedroom, employing the cutting tool like a saber.

Randy, filling up a glass from the cupboard with sink water, eyed Roman and put up a defensive hand. "Hey, relax, it's just me. Sorry. Didn't mean to scare ya. I thought you might have been asleep."

Roman cast out a relieved exhale. "Thank God."

"Don't look so spooked, buddy," Randy laughed. "I told you I'd be back today."

"Didn't you say Sunday afternoon?"

"Yeah, but apparently there's a snowstorm coming in later. I wanted to beat it home so I wouldn't be stranded at the airport."

Roman craned his head back towards Dean. "It's just my roommate."

Dean put a hand to his chest. "Phew. For a minute there, I was worried…"

He didn't have to finish the sentence for Roman to understand—and relate.

"Who you talking to?" Randy asked, lips twisting into a teasing smile.

Well, now he gets to learn for sure.

Roman beckoned for Dean to follow him out of the room. Randy's smile faltered ever so slightly. Clearly he hadn't been prepared for this. Roman couldn't blame him. He'd never brought anyone home before, male or female. He wasn't Randy.

"Randy, this is Dean Ambrose," Roman said. "Dean, this is my roommate, Randy Orton."

Dean stepped forward in his usual confident manner, arm stretched out. "Hey, how ya doing?"

"Oh, fine," Randy said. He gave Roman an unsure look. "So…"

"So."

Dean looked from Randy to Roman, still holding Randy's hand, unsure of the confusion.

"Dean and I are together," Roman said. Was that right? Were they official? They'd kissed and slept together, sure. But were they in a committed relationship now thanks to that? What were they?

Dean was there to verify. "Yup. We sure are."

"That's cool!" Randy said, overplaying his acceptance a tad. It was better than a total freakout, though. "That's good. I'm glad you found someone to make you happy, Roman. I've been trying to set him up for years now. Nobody really fit the bill."

"Well, I guess I'm special," Dean said.

"You must be," Randy said.

"I'm gonna get dressed and start getting ready to go," Roman said.

"I'll join you," Dean said. "Good to meet you, Randy."

"Hey, yeah, you too, Dean," Randy said.

Dean scurried back into Roman's bedroom. Randy held out his fist.

"What's this for?" Roman asked.

"You found someone to make you happy. 'Bout time!" Randy cheered.

Roman gave into a smile, fist-bumping his roommate. Maybe Randy was a lot cooler than he first guessed.

"So, what do you want for Christmas?"

Dean ripped the top of his blueberry muffin off and lassoed it into his mouth with an experienced tongue. "Dunno," he said, swallowing the mass of baked dough in a gulp. "Never really did the Christmas thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my family was always broke as shit. My dad's was in and out of prison a lot, so we didn't get him home half the time, let alone for the holiday season every year."

Roman was grateful Dean had entrusted him with this private information, distressing as it was.

"My mom tried to scrounge up money every year for gifts for us kids, but it was never more than one or two cheap little things. She said it was best to save money for shit that mattered. Bills, food, gas for the car, et cetera." Dean dug a single blueberry out of the muffin and popped it into his mouth. "When my brother got a job, he tried pitching in for Christmas presents, but it was never enough to have a huge Christmas like a lot of people are used to. I left before anyone thought about getting their shit together. Doubt they did. Mom kinda sucked as a parent by herself, but at least she tried to take care of us. Dad just drank."

Roman's heart broke at the story. He tried to take Dean's hand, but Dean pulled it away.

"Nah. I don't tell the story to get sympathy, Ro. I don't need it. I'm a lot better off here."

Was he? With the Wyatt brothers targeting him, Dean wasn't exactly safe and sound here—but at least he had some idea of true family with him and Seth, not to mention Seth's welcoming folks.

"So, putting a shorter answer to your simple question," Dean said, pausing to sip his water. He'd claimed he wanted Roman to be on the clock, for Roman to take his order and prepare him salted caramel mocha personally. "You don't have to get me anything, 'cause I'm not used to getting anything. But, I'm not gonna be that asshole that refuses gifts at Christmastime. If you really wanna get me something, it doesn't even have to be big. Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll love it."

It was going to be big, and Roman had decided for himself what he wanted to get for Dean, if Dean hadn't given him a different answer than what he had in mind.

"Want another muffin?" Roman asked as Dean licked away crumbs on his fingers.

"Nah, I'm alright. Thanks, though. I can't wait for my mocha."

Roman gathered up the trash and checked the time. Five minutes till one. "What are you gonna do while I'm working?"

"Hang out here. If that's alright."

"You might be bored. Our rush is due any minute. Post-church rush, plus the usual weekend crowd."

"Oh, I'll be fine. I've got some homework to catch up on, anyway."

Ah, that was right. Dean had brought the black books along. Roman had nearly forgotten about them. Roman hoped Dean's home hadn't suffered within Bray Wyatt's rage. Surely the man knew what Dean had done by now.

Roman swooped down to peck Dean's lips. "I've gotta get back there."

"Alright. I'll be up in a little while for my drink."

Roman wandered behind the counter and shuffled towards the back room. He tied an apron around his waist and pulled his hair into a ponytail. He greeted his boss Curtis and reminded his manager that he was working for Dolph today. Before stashing his phone away, he read over a text Dolph had sent him minutes ago.

Thanks again buddy. Appreciate it x

Roman clocked in and took the register over from Jimmy. Dean was on his way up to the counter, but he was beat to the register by an older couple bundled in coats and colored gloves. Even as they stood in line, the man held his wife's hand. Roman hoped to have a standing love that grew as old as he did someday.

"What can I get started for you guys?" he asked.

The man squinted through his glasses at the menu. "Oh, I can hardly see anything that's up there…I'm sorry…"

"Oh, no, no worries," Roman said. At least he didn't blame whoever had written the menu up in "too small text." He'd gotten that complaint from an elderly chap before. Older people were either his best customers or the worst, depending on the day.

"What would you recommend, sonny?" the woman asked, baring a false set of teeth.

Before Roman could answer her, a voice piped up behind her. "Salted caramel mocha."

The woman turned to Dean, standing right behind her. "Sorry?"

"The salted caramel mocha," he repeated patiently. "It's my favorite drink, hands down. And this guy makes 'em best." He raised his hand towards Roman. He grinned, his cheeks burning.

"So I've heard," Roman said.

"I guess I can give it a try," the woman said. "I do like caramel."

"You know what, make it two," the man ordered. "And an egg sandwich, and a Caribbean tuna salad."

"You got it," Roman said. Dean gave him a thumbs-up behind the couple.

The afternoon was typical for a Sunday. People came and went, the crowd swelled and died by late afternoon. Dean sat at his usual table by the window, indulging in his favorite drink and copying whatever privy information from Bray Wyatt's notebook into his own. At one point the elderly couple walked past his table and thanked him for the delicious drink recommendation. They returned to the counter to drop a few dollars in the tip jar. Roman thanked them for coming in.

It was busy enough to keep Roman behind the counter for the majority of his shift, yet slow in some areas where he didn't feel too overwhelmed. He couldn't wait to be off. Just an hour to go. He wondered what Dean would want to do tonight. Randy was home, so maybe Dean staying another night wasn't the best idea…Randy might have been alright with their relationship—Roman's insides buzzed at the thought of being in a relationship—but he didn't want to make Randy extremely uncomfortable too early on.

And Dean would have to go home at some point…he couldn't evade his own apartment forever…

Maybe he could stay with Seth at Seth's parents' house tonight. Just another night in guaranteed safety.

A young, unaccompanied girl entered the coffeeshop. Roman didn't recognize her as a regular. She was tall, appearing even taller in her brown designer boots, gaunt in her green peacock coat. Her short black hair fell choppy over her hazel eyes.

"How are you today?" Roman greeted her.

"Oh, fine." Her voice was timid. "Could I please get a tall spiced pumpkin hot chocolate? To go."

"You've got it." Roman's eyes shifted up from his register. He was about to ask her if he could get her anything else when he noticed Dean ogling at him.

The color was gone from his face again.

His eyes were swelling out of their sockets.

Even from this distance Roman noticed the escalation of every breath.

"W-was there anything else I could get for you?" Roman asked at last. Fortunately the girl didn't seem to catch onto Dean's reaction to her, seemingly, or his reaction to Dean's reaction. Did he know her? Was she an ex?

"That'll be all. Thank you."

Why was Dean so freaked?

"Can I get a name for the order?"

"Abigail."

That name rattled inside Roman's head like an unsettling memory.

Was this…surely…surely not…

But another look at Dean told him the truth.

This must have been Bray Wyatt's sister Abigail.

When she handed a credit card over to Roman and he checked her ID, it was completely confirmed.

Abigail Wyatt.

Fuck.

Dean had already quietly shifted into another chair so his back was to the register. Roman could see him hunched over the table, arms covering the books. Practically heard Dean praying Abigail wouldn't come to him.

Roman speared her signed receipt onto the spindle and got to work on her hot chocolate. He had to know what she was up to. "So, what brings you in today?"

"The cold," Abigail said, smiling. How did she look so much more innocent than her psycho brother?

"Don't think I've ever seen you in before. You live around here?"

"Mm, not really. I live a little further south of here. I'm in town today visiting some family."

Family.

The Wyatts.

To tell them about Dean?

Or did they already know?

Thank God this order was to go.

Roman finished up the drink and set it in her waiting gloved hand. "There you go, miss Abigail."

"Thank you, Roman," she said, noting his name tag.

This thing's a real traitor.

He wanted her the hell out now. Her motivations seemed to be pure, but Roman didn't want her spotting Dean and changing moods. "You have yourself a great day, ma'am."

"You too, thanks. Oh," she said before leaving, looking at him in the eyes. "One more thing. You can tell your dearest friend Dean Ambrose that it's alright for him to go home now."

Roman's neck broke out in a sweat. Did she just say…

The smile alit on her face again, this time in a different denotation. "Wherever he hides away, my big brother will find him and take care of him for what he did. If he chooses to involve others in his own plight, Bray isn't afraid to take care of them, too."

Roman's throat went dry. "I, uh—sorry? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

Roman licked his lips. He had nothing else to say. His mind was blank and white like a dry erase board, wiped clean of all contemplations.

"Goodbye, Roman."

Abigail spun around on her heel, drink in hand, and disappeared out the glass door, the golden bell tinkling, wishing her goodbye.

It took a moment for Roman to remember how to breathe.

Dean turned back around, hand over his mouth. He trotted to the counter, drained and defeated.

"Did you hear that?" Roman asked.

"Unfortunately, yeah."

"How the hell did she know who I was? How'd she know I work here?"

"I—I wish I knew, Ro." Dean moved his hands to his hair, tugging on the ends in a panic he struggled to contain. "Bray's the guy with connections, and I know he's low enough to follow up on every opportunity he gets…"

"Son of a bitch," Roman muttered. He pressed his palms flat against the counter and leaned forward, stretching his back which suddenly felt tense.

"I'm not letting them do anything to you, Ro."

"I'm not letting them do anything to me. Or you. Or Seth. If they fucking try, then that's what they fucking asked for."

Dean set his hand on top of Roman's. It relaxed at once by the single touch.

"We'll be alright," Dean said, sounding more certain than he probably felt. So certain that Roman actually believed him.

But how long would it take before they would know?