Dean chewed on his lip, it was already red and swollen. His knee bounced up and down as he thought, brows furrowed.
You love him, you idiot! Go for it! This is your only chance, tell him.
But he had hurt him. So much. He’d never take him back. Would he?
Dean huffed and stood up from where he had been sitting on the couch. He walked over to the window. It had started raining half an hour ago, and everything was grey, and sad, and cold. He glanced down the road. He was home. Dean knew he was.
“Damn it,” he muttered as he yanked the door open, not bothering to change into warmer clothes, or even put on a jacket. He ran down the sidewalk in a thin t-shirt and jeans, squinting his eyes against the rain who whipped against his face. He had to get him back.