"Maybe it's not such a good idea," Renee uttered, her lips hardly opened. The only reason Dean was able to hear her was that he was right next to her, folding his clothes on his bed. Renee's job was to take the piece that Dean had just finished folding and refold it. She just couldn't be satisfied with the way Dean was doing it.

Dean didn't choose to respond. He was so busy that he didn't even notice Renee's growing sadness.

Now decided to show the true feelings, Renee stopped caring about the clothes and, with one shirt still in her hands, she sat down. She stared abstractedly at Dean's legs, or rather his jeans. The object she was looking at didn't matter anyway.

Only when Dean had problems getting the next T-shirt – because Renee was partly sitting on it – he noticed that something was not quite right. "What's the matter?" he asked. "You changed your mind?"

"No," she laughed. Then she frowned again. "But it'll suck, you know? I'll come home and I'll be there alone. That would be okay, normally," she added. "But when I see your stuff, I'll realize that something's missing."

Dean looked at her understandingly. "I'll spend with you as much time as possible. Besides, it's only temporary. After I finish filming, I'll be with you again." He made her move a little so that he could continue with packing.

"I should feel more enthusiastic about this, shouldn't I?"

"Yes," Dean said to her. "Maybe we're doing it all wrong. Maybe it'd be better if I never mentioned moving in and after I'd be done with the movie, I'd just come to your door with my suitcase and –" he stopped to regroup. "Or I'd take all your things and bring them here."

"No. The way you did it is not the problem, the circumstances are. We are supposed to spend more time together now that we'll be living together. Except that in reality we'll see each other less often."

"But hey, look at it this way. You'll be living with a movie star," Dean joked.

Renee stood up and let Dean take her in her arms. "All I'm saying is that I'll miss you." She went to kiss him on the cheek, but Dean was faster and moved his lips so that she'd kiss them. And he made the kiss last.

"I'll miss you too," he whispered afterwards. Briefly he smiled at her while looking directly in her still somewhat sad eyes, then he left her. He walked over to the hi-fi system and turned it on. The volume was high – the way Dean liked it – but he turned it down a bit so that they wouldn't need to shout if they wanted to say something to the other person.

When Dean turned back to Renee, she was packing again. "Leave it," Dean said as he walked toward her. Pretending she didn't hear him, she continued. Only when Dean's arms got on hers he was able to control her actions. "Renee," he said and sighed at the same time. He tried to make her look at him, but he failed the first time. From behind, he leaned to kiss her cheek. He still couldn't see her face, though. Arms wrapped around her, lips lingering on her skin, he absorbed her perfume, just as the soft music. It was not a really slow song, but very emotional one. But that couldn't be the reason for her wet cheek. Struck by the realization, Dean made Renee look at him. Yes, she was weeping. Quietly, wishing for it to go unnoticed. Dean felt wave of coldness run through his body. Not wasting a minute, he pressed his lips against hers. He could feel the tears fall down her face while kissing her. Slowly he created distance between their faces. His eyes stayed locked on hers. She tried to look away – down, or somewhere safe – but he found her; it was impossible to escape him. He dried her tears. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Yes, you are," she objected in a defenseless voice.

"Don't think about it. Now I'm here. We're here. Together. That's all that matters now."

"But then –" she couldn't forget.

"Then . . . I'll be right back. You won't even notice I'm gone."

"Right," she said sarcastically, and laughed briefly.

"Renee." He reassessed the strategy he had been using until now. Well, it wasn't even a strategy. It was just saying something that most people would say in similar situation – according to Dean. But he never was like other people. He always dealt with all sort of situations differently. "Renee," he repeated, getting her attention. But he lost her again – she possibly got distracted by something behind Dean. She tilted her head to look over Dean's shoulder. There was a closet. Inside, on a hanger, a dress. Hypnotized, she walked over to it to look at it more closely. There was no remainder of tears on her face. As if she had long forgotten about Dean's break from WWE to play in a movie. Now the dress got all her attention. Long sleeveless dress of light yellow color. Very comfortable to touch. Material? Silk. The dress was all the way to the floor. The dust on the bottom, but Renee didn't care for it. "I haven't seen it in forever," she spoke.

"What?"

"How long ago is it?" Renee asked, reflecting.

Now Dean looked more closely. At first he didn't understand what she was talking about, but now he understood. Suddenly standing next to Renee, he said, "Over a year, I believe."

"You remember?" she asked, surprised. Her eyes caught his for a second, then returned to the dress.

"Of course."

"I forgot all about it."

"That was the deal, wasn't it? We were meant to forget."

"I guess, yeah."

"You said you didn't want anyone to know."

"Have you –"

"No." He smiled. "I've never told anyone."

Renee nodded.

Dean said, "But it would be interesting if others knew."

"No!" she said – or shouted – abruptly.

A harmless laughter came from Dean.

"Please, don't."

Dean took the dress out. It looked clean; he took good care of it – at least he did his best. "Put it on."

Renee smiled; she didn't really have a reason to object. "Okay." Dean handed her the dress so that she'd go to the bathroom to change. She could do it right there, in Dean's bedroom, in front of him, but she'd like to see herself in the mirror before he'd see her.

Instead of passively waiting for her to appear in the door, looking charming as she certainly would, he found himself an outfit to wear. Once he promised Renee to dress up nicely so that she wouldn't be ashamed of him – which she never really was, but still – and go with her out, just like that. Because, why not? He never got to do that. But he didn't want for the promise to stay just empty words. Now it seemed to be the right opportunity. They had time, they had ideal clothes in hand, and they had the city. But most of all, they were by themselves. Pressurized by nothing and no one.

In two minutes, Dean was staring at his reflection in the mirror, wearing tuxedo, adjusting the tie. His hair looked pretty good at that moment. The shoes could be a little more shiny but . . . His mind got distracted, his body as well. His breath had been taken away.

Renee stood behind him, in a dress that she hadn't put on since 2013. Actually, she wore it just once or twice.

"Sir," Renee said, before Dean had chance to look at her directly, "may I compliment on your appearance?" she asked politely.

Then he turned around. No words got out of his mouth. Maybe because none got formed in his mind. His brain didn't focus on coming up with something clever to say, it was gasping what the eyes saw. It was picturing the exact same girl in exact same dress, just on a whole other occasion. It was comparing.

"Your hair was . . ." Dean broke off. He had her hair in his hands, attempting at recreating the image his brain held from one night a year ago.

Unreadable expression was on both their faces. They were hypnotized by each other. Their eyes trying to reconnect. Dean's will was not strong enough to keep working on Renee's hair. He was focusing on her eyes, such heavenly eyes. All his senses were occupied. The music got his hearing and Renee got the rest. Well . . . the taste . . . His hands slipped down her face and stayed on her neck for a moment. Her hair fell on her shoulders, only one wisp stayed on her face, before her eyes. Dean took it away without really looking at it because his eyes were set on the lips that he meant to kiss. Slowly, with care. He acted as though Renee was a porcelain doll that could break easily, so he needed to be really gentle with her. He needed to take good care of his tender angel.

Pausing the kiss, smiling, Dean whispered, "I'll be back, and then . . ."

"And then?" she asked.

"Then, my darling . . ." He didn't finish. His lips refused to obey.

Thanks all of you for reading. If it wasn't for you, I would have never spent six months writing a story, and I certainly wouldn't have finished it. Thanks for staying with me for so long (al least for me it's a long time). For those of you asking "Is that it?", my answer is yes, sort of. I plan to write a sequel to Trust Me, Darling, probably untitled Forever, Darling. Again, with Dean and Renee as protagonists. But that would be when Dean finishes his movie, if at all. Until then (or until I decide to write something else - or finish a story), bye.