May 15th-16th, 2005
Dean swiped the last of the soy sauce packets off the table, crumpling them into his palm while he started gathering up the fortune cookie wrappers. The scent of Szechuan chicken still lingered in the air of Lorelai's cabin, mingling with the space's usual earthy aroma. Music played in the background, another mix CD of Lorelai's, this one featuring Zeppelin, the Stones, and a healthy dose The Who, The Doors, and Lynyrd Skynyrd mixed in.
"Hey, hey careful there!" Lorelai said, her hand quickly darting under his and snatching at one of the packets. She ducked under his arm to do it, and when she straightened up, she was pressed against him, boxed in by the counter behind her. "This one still had a cookie in it," she continued, smiling widely as she ripped it open. Dean laughed while she quickly broke it apart to remove the paper, shoved the cookie pieces into her mouth, and pushed the trash into his hand with the rest of what he'd gathered before ducking away.
It was Sunday, but instead of meeting up at the bar like they had many times in the past week, or planning another evening out, Dean had gotten takeout and they'd decided to have a night in.
"You definitely grew up with brothers," he quipped, locking eyes with her while she closed up a container of leftovers and made for the fridge. "Appetite like that."
Lorelai smiled and brushed against him on her way back to the island.
"Yeah. Thank God for the fast metabolism," she shot back with a wink, pulling the last container in front of her and reaching for the lid. The reach caused her shirt to ride up and Dean found his eyes drawn to the stretch of skin it revealed.
He tossed the trash into the can while Lorelai ducked back to the fridge, and after she closed the door Dean grabbed her by the hips and pulled her against him. The action brought a smile to her face and Dean ducked his head, kissing her temple before moving onto her neck. Lorelai dropped her head back against him, a satisfied hum sounding from her lips, while she reached behind her to get whatever grip she could on him.
"It's sexy," he admitted, taking care to find the sensitive spot she had towards the base of her neck. Lorelai pressed back against him, her ass finding his groin and playfully grinding against him. The smile on her face got bigger and she chuckled.
"Oh yeah? Take me out for a burger tomorrow, I'll really turn you on." Dean laughed and let her go, reaching for the beers she'd set out on the counter between trips to the fridge.
"Call it a date," he agreed, popping the tops off each bottle before passing one of them to Lorelai. Her eyes were bright, hair pulled up into a messy bun with a few stray pieces framing her face.
"Movie time?" she asked, nodding towards the stack of DVDs she'd grabbed from the local video rental and left on the coffee table.
"Sure. Time to see if you pass the test." Lorelai raised an eyebrow and trailed behind him while he headed for the couch.
"You doubting my taste, Winchester?"
"You did just try and convince me that The Rolling Stones are better than Led Zeppelin," he pointed out, turning his head just in time to see Lorelai roll her eyes, a smirk finding its way onto her face.
"That's because they are," she huffed quietly, and Dean shook his head before turning his attention to the DVDs.
As it turned out, she did have pretty decent taste in movies, and Dean was more than happy to find out she was also a fan of Lost Boys - the clear winner out of the selection she'd put together, though The Outsiders had been a close second.
Dean eased himself onto the plush leather of the couch, stretching out and propping his feet up on the coffee table while Lorelai put the DVD in and grabbed the remote. He lifted an arm to the back of the couch in invitation as she walked back, one which she quickly accepted.
Lorelai curled up next to him, her head finding its way to the crook of his shoulder. She smelled like roses, nectarines, and something else uniquely her, a scent that was becoming as comforting to Dean as the leather of his jacket. She hit play on the remote, but his attention wasn't on the screen.
Instead, he found himself studying Lorelai—the curve of her smile as she watched Kiefer Sutherland appear on screen, the softness in her eyes when they flickered to meet his gaze, the gentle cadence of her laughter that bubbled up at the movie's dark humor. Dean memorized each detail, cataloging the moments like precious artifacts.
He was falling hard for her, harder than he wanted to admit. It was like gravity had shifted, and all he could do was tumble further into whatever this thing between them was. The fear was only increasing, though. He and Cassie had been solid too. Right up until he stripped away the pretenses and told her the truth. Dean wasn't eager to repeat the experience with Lorelai, but he knew if they kept this up, she'd eventually figure out that his mechanic story was BS, and he'd be forced to deal with it.
They hadn't put a label on whatever this was. There were no expectations, no definitions—just two people living in the moment and enjoying what they had. Dean didn't want to name it; naming it made it real, and he wasn't ready for that. He suspected Lorelai wasn't either.
"Dean, you're doing it again," Lorelai murmured, not taking her eyes off the screen but reaching up to trace the furrow between his brows with her finger. "You get this look, like you're miles away. What're you thinking so hard about? It's Lost Boys."
"Nothing," he lied smoothly, offering her a half-grin. "This movie just never gets old."
She nodded and settled back against him, seemingly satisfied with his answer. Dean let out a silent sigh of relief. The moment passed, and they returned to the comfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional comments about the film.
Eventually, the credits rolled across the screen, casting flickering light over the room. Dean stretched his legs out further on the coffee table, feeling the pleasant lethargy of a night well spent. Beside him, Lorelai shifted, her blue eyes meeting his green ones as she turned to face him.
"Hey," she whispered, her breath warm against his neck.
"Hey yourself," Dean replied, his mouth forming into a lopsided smile.
"You're really cute. We should totally make out some time." Her voice was hoarse from lack of use, but it only made her joke more endearing, and a grin split across Dean's face.
"What a coincidence. I was thinkin' the same thing." The playful spark in her eyes was all the invitation he needed.
Their lips met, softly at first, but with a simmering promise of more. The kiss deepened, Lorelai maneuvering to face him better and one of her legs crossing atop his as a result. Her laughter bubbled up between kisses, a lilting sound that made his heart soar, while heat began thrumming through Dean's veins like an electric current.
They moved together seamlessly, a dance they were both learning the steps to, guided by instinct and the magnetic pull between them. Dean's hands found their way into her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as if they belonged there. Lorelai's ran over his shoulders and chest, before ultimately one came to rest at the nape of his neck and her other arm wrapped around his waist, urging him closer.
The movie had long been forgotten, the TV screen now displaying nothing but the DVD menu loop, its music a distant backdrop to the symphony of their shared breaths.
"You know, 'Winchester, you're pretty good at this," she flirted, her voice still soft. They'd only broken apart ever so slightly, and Dean could feel her words on his lips. He was half hovering over her now, supporting his weight with one hand while she leaned against the arm of the couch. He smiled, kissing her slowly again, letting his tongue roll against hers and drawing out one of those moans he enjoyed hearing so much.
"Not so bad yourself, sweetheart."
It wasn't long before they eventually rose from the couch and, still intertwined, moved toward the bedroom where the night silently promised to blend into morning.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains when Dean blinked awake the next morning, the other side of the bed empty but still slightly warm. He stretched, muscles pleasantly sore, and rolled his head to glance at the clock. It was later than he normally slept in, but still early.
He knew without looking that Lorelai would have slipped out for her run before the day truly started. It was part of her routine, one he'd become familiar with during these mornings that had almost begun to become routine for him too.
Throwing off the covers, Dean padded across the floorboards, his feet silent. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the contentment from the night before mix with a certain homeliness he hadn't experienced in a long time - if ever.
In the kitchen, he spotted the pot of coffee Lorelai had made for herself. Half-empty, but he knew better than to reheat it - fresh was the only way to go. Dean set about making a new batch, measuring out the grounds with practiced ease. The rich aroma filled the kitchen, mingling with the lingering scent of pine from outside and something sweet—probably Lorelai's shampoo or perfume.
The domesticity of the scene struck him - a sharp contrast to his nomadic life - and yet it wasn't unwelcome. It was another layer to their undefined relationship, a silent acknowledgment that this - whatever it was - was comfortable, easy even.
As the coffee burbled away, Dean's gaze drifted to his phone, which showed a missed call from his dad. He hesitated for a heartbeat before clicking into the voicemail, listening to John's gruff tone briefly instructing him to call back.
There was another moment of hesitation while his thumb hovered over the callback button, thoughts momentarily tangling. How much could he say? How much should he keep to himself? Undefined or not, his dad wouldn't approve.
"Dean?" John's voice came through with that mix of concern and command that always put Dean on alert.
"Hey, Dad," Dean replied, leaning against the cool granite of the kitchen island. "Sorry I missed your call."
"Everything alright? You've been quiet since you hit Tullahoma."
"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine..." Dean started, trailing off as he pictured Lorelai's smile, her easy laughter from the night before. "It's definitely a werewolf, but I missed the lunar cycle, so it's been slow going."
"Could be it moved on - or someone else took care of it. Attacks stopped, right?"
"For now. I'll bet they start up again towards the end of the month." There was a rustling on the other end of the phone while the coffee sputtered to a finish in front of him.
"Can always swing back if they do. For all you know, another hunter took care of it."
"Maybe," Dean conceded while he grabbed himself a mug. "I don't think so, though. Gut says it's still here." He refused to acknowledge that it might have anything to do with his unspoken reluctance to leave this newfound slice of normality with Lorelai.
"Alright, just don't get tunnel vision on me. Saw another weird one a few towns over from you… gory body found in a room locked from the inside. Might be worth checking out."
"Got it," Dean said automatically, making a mental tick and storing away the information like it was a habit. "Where are you at?"
"Oklahoma… poltergeist. Shouldn't take me long. Let me know when you wrap up there," John finished, tone shifting just enough to signal the end of the call.
"Will do," Dean assured him before hanging up, feeling oddly adrift in the silence that followed.
By the time Lorelai breezed in a few minutes later - a whirlwind of energy, damp hair clinging to her flushed cheeks - Dean was already sitting at the island, coffee in hand scanning through the papers. She shot him a wide grin that made his chest tighten pleasantly.
"Fuck, you're amazing," she said, spotting the fresh pot. She stopped, capturing his lips in a deep but quick kiss before moving past him to pour herself a cup.
"You're just easy to please," Dean retorted, amused by her vigor.
"Coffee is the way to my heart." It was only half a joke, and her fingers wrapped around the warm mug while she inhaled deeply, contentment etching itself across her face. Dean watched her lean back against the counter, drinking deeply, and tried not to get too lost in the scene.
"What are you up to today?" he asked.
"Ride-along," she answered, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. "Won't be back until late."
"Don't look so excited," he teased, feeling a mix of relief and disappointment. If Lorelai would be tied up for the day that would make it easier for him to get out to check out the stiff his dad had told him about without arousing any suspicion. He'd already found the article, and Murfreesboro, where the guy had died, was less than an hour away. It also sounded like Dean would be sleeping alone in the motel again, though, and that was more disappointing than he expected.
"Oh, I'm sure it'll be thrilling," she deadpanned with a roll of her eyes. "What about you?"
"Nothing specific planned," Dean lied smoothly, finishing off his coffee. "But I'll get out of your hair and head back to the motel."
He almost missed the way her face fell… almost. It was a nearly imperceptible shift of her expression before she covered it with a smile. But she'd been such a fixation of his over the past week and a half he was getting good at reading her subtle tells.
"I'm jealous," she bemoaned, "a lazy day sounds so nice."
He paused, debating with himself whether or not to push it. They weren't anything, this was just supposed to be fun, and she was obviously making the effort to act normal. He couldn't leave it though… it would nag at him.
"Something wrong?"
"What?" she squeaked, her voice raising a bit in octave, which she quickly corrected. "Of course not, why would anything be wrong?"
Her reaction had only confirmed his suspicion and he fixed her with a probative look.
"Lor," he said, the tone of his voice pressing without him asking the question. She squirmed, which Dean tried not to find too amusing, but when he stood his ground she gripped her mug of coffee tighter, sipping at it slowly as though she could hide behind it.
"Just seems sort of stupid," she mumbled, trying and failing to get some of her normal snap back, "you paying for a room when you're spending all your time here."
Dean couldn't hold back his own amused smile while a blush bloomed to life across her face.
"Ah." The spark of realization warmed his chest. She liked having him around. He couldn't help but poke fun, leaning back in his chair with a cocky grin. "That's what this is? You don't want me to go?"
"I didn't say that," she shot back quickly, defensive, and Dean grinned wider.
"Aw c'mon, admit it. You don't like the idea of not spending the night with me because you'll miss me," he taunted, and Lorelai glared daggers back, the color in her cheeks deepening.
"Shut up!" She turned back towards the counter, giving him her back, and put the mug down on the counter a little harder than he thought she meant to before she began busying herself looking in the cabinets for something - food, if Dean had to guess. She wasn't good at this - being vulnerable - and Dean knew it.
"Hey," he said, his voice suddenly serious, dropping the teasing façade. When she didn't turn around he got off the stool and walked the few paces so he was right behind her. Gentle but firm, he turned her around, and cradled her face so she'd have to meet his eye. He was surprised to find she looked inexplicably nervous and bit the corner of her bottom lip. "I like being here. With you. Just didn't want to assume too much, you know?"
Her eyes rolled skyward, a defense mechanism he was coming to adore. "Just ditch the room, use the cabin. I've got it 'til the end of the month anyway," she let slip, and there it was - the hint of a future, however uncertain. A likely expiration date too.
Dean made a mental note, wondering if that meant she was definitely planning on staying in town that long, but didn't push. The significance of the interaction hung between them, unspoken yet loud. "Alright. I'll see you when you get home then. Or, you know - back here."
Still biting that lip of hers she nodded, but she now seemed to be doing it in an attempt to hold back a grin.
"Yeah alright, that'd be fine I guess."
Dean let out a snort of laughter and claimed her lips in a kiss. By the time they broke apart she was back to her normal self, ducking away from him with a coy smile and a mischievous glint in her eye.
"I'll call you later," she called over her shoulder, slinking down the hallway towards the bedroom. Dean watched after her for a moment, feeling slightly dazed. This chick had him so screwed.
His drive was quiet aside from the radio, the road stretching ahead like a ribbon unwinding from a spool. Dean's mind, however, wasn't on the asphalt or the passing trees; it was torn between replaying the morning, the way Lorelai's smile had etched itself into his memory, and the case at hand. Especially as he got closer, Dean did his best to force his consciousness on the case.
It was mid-morning by the time he arrived in Murfreesboro, home to the gruesome death of Dylan Harris two nights before. He was deciding between impersonating a building inspector and police officer when he spotted a cop car across the street and found his answer. Grabbing a fake business card out of the glove box, Dean then retreated to the trunk, grabbing out the rest of the supplies he needed.
Thankfully, the cops had already released the crime scene and it took very little effort with the landlady to gain access to Harris' apartment. Clipboard in hand, he navigated the police tape, nodding to cleanup crew at work with a confidence born of countless similar situations.
"Bad wiring," he muttered to anyone within earshot, while the EMF detector crackled and lit up. Something caught his eye near the floor and Dean crouched down. His fingers brushed over a sticky substance near the baseboard, and he knew without looking what it was. Ectoplasm - tangible proof of the supernatural at play. It wasn't his first rodeo with vengeful spirits, but ectoplasm could indicate he was dealing with one that had some serious juice.
"Awesome," Dean muttered, pocketing the EMF meter and standing up straight. He went through the motions of checking out the rest of the space before ducking out, leaving no trace of his true intent behind, his mind already cataloging the next steps.
Hungry, Dean was quick to find a diner nearby. The lunch rush was only just starting when he slid into a corner booth, the kind of place where coffee never stopped flowing and the vinyl seats had seen better decades. He set down a stack of newspapers, the ink still fresh enough to stain his fingers as he shuffled through them and ordered a burger, and a slice of pie after that. The food itself was rather lackluster, but he was relieved that this case was at least already moving along better than the werewolf.
"Anything else I can get you?" the waitress asked, reaching across him to put down a fresh soda, her chest grazing his shoulder - intentionally, Dean was pretty sure. She was pretty… blonde, light blue eyes, nice rack, small waist, and a friendly smile. Dean was surprised to find she really didn't do anything for him.
"Just the check, thanks," he replied with a distracted smile, his mind already sifting through the morbid puzzle laid out before him.
There were three victims, including Harris, spanning back two months. The first was a Mason Patterson, aged 63, followed by a Brittany Roberts, aged 36, and finally Dylan Harris aged 42. They had nothing obvious in common except for the fact that they all worked at Heritage AutoWorks. It wasn't a sure thing, but starting with the building's history seemed like a safe bet, and so leaving cash on the table, Dean slid out of the booth and made for the library.
Murfreesboro's library was bigger than Tullahoma's, but just as stuffy, and Dean was less than enthusiastic as he gathered up what he needed. These kinds of days never failed to make him miss Sam - his brother had always been the nerd of the family. Research was Dean's least favorite part of the job, but it had been Sam's favorite. Given how things had shaken out, Dean wondered if it had been the only part Sam even liked.
It took a few hours, but a story began to form, and Dean felt pretty confident he was on the right trail. Heritage AutoWorks, although having been around for some time, had only moved into their current premises a few months ago. Before that, the building had been abandoned since the 1900's, when it had been home to Cumberland Forge & Plow Works - a manufacturer of agriculture machinery during the Industrial Revolution. Cumberland had closed its doors after a worker had been found dead, Clarence Mitchell, his blood painting machinery and floor alike. The official record called it an accident, but papers from the time reported whispers of foul play. Clarence, apparently, had been an outspoken employee that wanted better protection put in place for the factory workers. Dean's fingers flew over the keyboard, tracking down the resting place of the long-forgotten victim. It might just be the lead he needed.
He glanced at the clock; nightfall was hours away. It was too early to go dig up Mr. Mitchell, but plenty of time to settle up at the motel.
As he drove back, thoughts of Lorelai buzzed like static in his head. She was a complication - a welcome one, but a complication nonetheless. He'd been lucky she was busy today, and more lucky that she didn't seem the nosy type, but he was still worried his luck would run up soon. Not to mention, connections were weaknesses - something that could be used against him. It was putting both of them in harm's way. The speeches from his dad were engrained in his head.
Dean's phone vibrated against his thigh as he approached Tullahoma, jolting him from his reverie. "Hey, Lor."
"Left a key for you under the mat," she said, her voice light, though it carried an undertone of something he couldn't quite place.
"Thanks. How's your day shaping up?"
"Good, good... busy," she replied, her words brushing the surface but revealing little. "How about you?"
"All good," Dean lied smoothly. "Found a salvage yard a few towns over to check out." His hand tightened around the wheel, the ease of his deceit a reminder of the chasm between their worlds.
"Nice! Well, I'll see you later then. Drive safe," she said, ending the call just as the familiar neon sign of his temporary lodging came into view.
Inside his room, efficiency took over. Clothes folded; toothbrush packed. But it was the hidden arsenal beneath the trunk of his Impala that demanded his attention - a choreography of weapons and lore tucked away from prying eyes. He couldn't have Lorelai stumbling upon silver bullets or dog-eared journals of the supernatural. Not yet. Not ever ideally. The fake ids needed to be stowed too.
With one last look, Dean shut the door of the room and headed to the desk to drop the key back off. It was a simple exchange, and then he had the Impala roaring to life, pointing her back towards Mufreesboro. The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the road. Tonight, he'd hunt ghosts and he could deal with his increasingly complicated personal life later.
Later that night, the moon, a thin shining crescent against the night sky, barely provided enough light for Dean to see the headstone marking Clarence Mitchell's grave. The cemetery was an island of silence amidst the nocturnal chorus of Murfreesboro's outskirts. With practiced movements, he set to work, the shovel biting into the earth with rhythmic thumps, each scoop of dirt piling up beside the grave like a testament to the night's grim necessity.
Sweat clung to Dean's brow, dirt smeared across his face where he had absentmindedly wiped it away. He could feel the burn in his muscles, the laborious endeavor pushing him physically, but it was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had yet to stop swirling in his head.
His breaths turned to mist in the cold air as he worked his way deeper, the metallic scent of the damp earth mingling with his own musk. It wasn't long before the dull thud of metal against wood echoed in the pit he'd created, and Mitchell's coffin was finally exposed.
Dean didn't hesitate as he cracked open the lid, revealing the decayed body within. He reached for the canister of salt, beginning the ritual by sprinkling a generous amount over the remains. That's when the air shifted, charged with a presence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention.
The ghost of Clarence Mitchell materialized, human looking if humans could still stand after being shredded to pieces. It lunged towards him, and Dean swung an iron crowbar through its form, disrupting its essence temporarily. Salt continued to pour from the canister, a protective circle forming around him as the ghost reeled from the iron's touch.
"Come on, you son of a –" His words were cut short as the spirit gathered itself for another charge. Dean ducked low, feeling the icy brush of spectral fingers graze his jacket. At least he knew he'd gotten it right going after Mitchell. Adrenaline surged through him, narrowing his focus to the task at hand. He reached for the lighter fluid, dousing the remains thoroughly.
Mitchell, undeterred by the assault, rushed at him once more. Dean's instincts kicked in; he rolled to the side, avoiding its grasp by mere inches. With a swift movement, his hand flung a lit match into the grave.
Flames erupted, consuming the remains in a blaze that seemed to devour the darkness itself. The ghost, caught in the conflagration, let out an unearthly shriek as it dissipated into nothingness, leaving only the crackle of fire behind.
Panting, Dean watched while the fire did its cleansing work. Once it had burned down to embers, he took a moment to collect himself, wiping the sweat and grime from his face with the back of his hand. The job was done, and part of them wished they were all that damn easy.
He drove back through the quiet streets, the fatigue of the hunt settling into his bones. The Impala's headlights cut through the dark, guiding him to the sanctuary of the cabin and as he pulled up, a wave of relief washed over him - the absence of Lorelai's car meant she hadn't beaten him home.
Grabbing the key from under the mat, he slipped inside, the familiar scent of pine and a hint of her perfume greeting him. He dropped his bag in the bedroom, the weight of the night's events urging him towards the bathroom.
Inside, he stripped off his soiled clothing, letting the hot water wash away the dirt and the tension. Steam enveloped him, and for a moment, just for a moment, he allowed himself to sink into the warmth, to forget the werewolves, the ghosts, and the lies that felt like they were threatening to drown him.
His peace was short-lived, however. Stepping out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was a hunter - all he had to his name was his car, a handful of scars, and a crap ton of secrets. He didn't belong in whatever game he was playing here.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Dean finished drying off and shucked on some dry clothes before shoving the rest into the corner next to the side of the bed that had unofficially become his. He'd ask Lorelai the next morning where she wanted him to put his stuff, though he suspected she wouldn't care much, given that she still seemed to be living out of her own bags.
The bed creaked softly as Dean nestled into the cool sheets, his body aching with a satisfying weariness. The gentle cadence of his own breathing filled the room, falling into a steady rhythm as thoughts of sleep danced nearer. He'd barely closed his eyes when the sound of the front door hinges creaked through the cabin, signaling Lorelai's return.
Not moving a muscle, he listened as her presence permeated the space, the soft pad of her footsteps approaching. He heard her fumble in the darkness while she grabbed clothes before slipping into the bathroom. A few minutes later, the mattress dipped beside him, and without opening his eyes, Dean extended an arm, inviting her into the warmth he had cultivated under the blankets.
"Hey," she murmured, the word barely audible as she slid against him, her cool skin a contrast to his lingering heat. Her body fit snugly against his, like two pieces of a puzzle long separated.
"Hey," he mimicked, the pretense of slumber falling away as he tightened his hold around her waist. Fatigue tugged at his eyelids, but he fought it off for just a moment longer, needing to savor the simple intimacy of her closeness.
Lorelai's lips brushed against his, her fingers caressing from his temple to his jawline.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered, and Dean blearily shook his head, kissing her again.
"'S alright," he murmured. "Gotta say goodnight to my girl." He hadn't meant to call her his, but even in the moonlight he could tell her cheeks had flushed before she turned over in his arms, pressing her back against his chest and nestling into his arms.
She kissed the arm that was holding her, wrapping her own around it and absentmindedly tracing patterns with her fingers. The feeling made his brain go fuzzy, but he still heard her whispered words a moment later… soft, like she'd been afraid to say them.
"It was nice... knowing you'd be here tonight."
Dean hummed in agreement, holding her closer. The vulnerability in her voice struck a chord somewhere deep, reminding him he wasn't the only one struggling to find their footing.
He pressed his mouth to the nape of her neck, his whisper blending with the darkness, "I'm happy I'm here too." Despite his uneasiness, he knew there was a truth in the words… even if he wasn't ready to fully confront it.
It didn't take long for them both to give into the pull of exhaustion. They fell asleep, Dean with his body wrapped almost protectively around hers. And as they slept, their bodies entwined in peaceful harmony, the questions and secrets fell away, leaving behind the simple bond they'd unwittingly begun forging.
Thank you everyone for reading, and for the favorites/follows/reviews! I'm completely new to posting and the feedback has been very much appreciated!