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The bunker was quiet—the type of quiet in that soft, late-night way it only ever managed when Dean was taking a long shower and the world outside was letting you two rest.
Sam sat propped against the headboard beside you, his laptop balanced across your thighs, the warmth of the fan seeping through your pajama pants.
You two were close. Not quite in a relationship, but not quite friends. It wasn't complicated, per se, it just didn't have labels. Both of you hated it, but neither of you bothered to fix it.
In the mean time, here you two were, sitting in the most comfortable silence, it made the line between friendship and something more look paper thin. Your legs were thrown over Sam's lap, and your head was resting on his shoulder, a book—Harry Potter, to be clear—resting in your hands.
Sam turned to you, looking unfairly attractive in those dorky glasses. "What?" he asked, a tiny smile tugging at his mouth. "Did the coffee give me a mustache?" It didn't, but he wiped his mouth on his sleeve just to be sure.
"Nope, you just look like a nerd." That earned a snort from him, and the mere sight of his smile—dimples barely visible—made something bloom in your chest.
"A nerd," he echoed, scoffing. "Wow. Brutal. Thanks for the compliment boost." But the way he ducked his head, pushing his glasses up with one finger, made it obvious he was trying to hide a grin.
When he looked back at you, the grin softened into something warmer. Something that made your chest tighten. "You really think I'm a nerd?" he asked, quieter this time, like he actually cared about the answer. Cause he did. Why the fuck wouldn't he?
"Yeah," you said, barely above a whisper. "But not in a bad way."
"So you like that I'm a nerd?"
"Don't get cocky on me, Winchester."
He closed his laptop and set it aside, shifting closer, just enough to be a nuisance to your pulse. "Relax," he murmured, voice low, warm against your face. "I can't ask a simple question?"
Simple. Nothing about the way he was looking at your lips felt simple. The space between you shrank until you could feel the heat of him—radiating off of his body in waves, his breath sweet with the coffee you two shared just before this.
"...I never said I liked you being a nerd. I just said you being a nerd isn't bad." You tried everything not to stare at his lips, but alas, you act before you think.
He catches your gaze, a smug little smile spreading those impeccably soft lips as he reaches out and tilts your chin up. "Not to burst your bubble—but my eyes are up higher than that."
Your pulse jumped. "Maybe back up, then. Just a suggestion." We both know you didn't have the balls to push him away.
"So... it's my fault now?" You couldn't answer, dizzy from the sheer, desperate want to lean in.
Sam just hums at your lack of response. "Tell me to stop."
You didn't utter a damn word. And he took that as a good sign.