The Things We Left Behind
EX-Boyfriend Dean x Fem!Reader
Dean Dilaurentis Main Masterlist
Summary: Y/n is reminded of her breakup with Dean and her past emotions when Dean brings up a bracelet he found at Tucker's birthday celebration.
Caution: Swearing, drinking, breakup, angst, and suggestive smut
My work is mine. Please don’t copy, repost, translate, or publish anything I write on any platform. Don’t use my ideas, plots, or characters without permission. Respect the time and effort I put into my writing. I don’t do tags… If something isn’t for you, feel free to scroll past
Even though it was a Thursday, the hockey house was having a party. It was Tucker’s birthday, and I knew I couldn’t skip it, even though something in me was telling me I really shouldn’t go.
I wasn’t sure if I could face Dean yet. I’d seen him around campus, of course, but I hadn’t actually spoken to him, and I definitely hadn’t gone to a party without him. The idea of walking into the hockey house and pretending everything was fine made my stomach twist a bit.
Either way, I was still mates with the guys. I couldn’t let Johnny Boy down, not when he’d been going on about this party all week, even if I did have to be up stupidly early in the morning. It felt wrong not to show up for him, even with everything else hanging over me.
He’d gone with a cowboy theme, probably because of where he grew up, and the whole place is likely going to look like someone had tried to turn Massachusetts into Texas overnight.
So here I was, sitting cross‑legged on my bed, mascara wand pinched between my fingers as I leaned toward the little mirror I’d propped against Hannah’s bedside table. My lashes were already half done, and I was blinking slowly, trying not to smudge anything. My stomach felt tight, like I was bracing for something I didn’t want to admit.
“What’s up with you?” Hannah asked. Her tone was light, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.
I glanced at her through the mirror. She was standing in front of her wardrobe, shimmying a pair of flared jeans over her hips. Her red plaid shirt was already on, tied neatly at the waist like she’d been waiting a long time for a cowboy theme.
“Nothing,” I mumbled, blinking a few times to separate the clumps. “Just tired.”
She stepped closer, folding her arms as she looked me over. “You’re never this quiet when we get ready.”
I shrugged, keeping my eyes fixed on the mirror. “Didn’t sleep great.”
Hannah watched me for a moment, her expression softening. “Right. Well… you look good, so that’s something.”
I let out a tiny laugh. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” she said, smiling, "it'll be fun.”
I nodded, even though my stomach was still doing that weird twisty thing. “Yeah. Sure.” I then lowered the mascara and sighed, the truth slipping out before I could stop it. “I don’t want to go.”
Hannah leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She had a smirk on her face. “There it is,” she said, tilting her head.
I groaned and ran my hand through my hair. “No, seriously. I don’t,” I said, my voice getting louder.
“Yeah, you do,” she replied, nodding and stepping closer.
“No, I don’t.” I said it again, crossing my arms tightly and tapping my foot in annoyance.
She laughed, stepping back to grab her boots. “You do. You just don’t want to deal with whatever’s making you act like a sad little Victorian orphan.”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest tightened again. She wasn’t wrong. I turned back to the mirror, smoothing the ends of my hair with my fingertips, trying to make myself look more put-together than I felt.
It wasn’t the party itself. I’d been to enough hockey house parties by now to know exactly what I was walking into: sticky floors, loud music, boys shouting over beer pong. That part didn’t scare me.
Just thinking about seeing him tonight had left this uncomfortable tightness that had sat under my ribs all afternoon. Like my body already knew something my brain was trying to ignore.
We’d only been broken up for about a month. That wasn’t exactly long enough for anything to feel normal again. Not long enough for your stomach to stop dropping when you spotted your ex across campus. Not long enough to know what to do with yourself when they walked into a room and your whole body reacted before you could tell it not to.
And definitely not long enough to walk into a party where he’d be standing in the kitchen, laughing with the boys, looking exactly the same and completely different at the same time.
I swallowed, forcing my gaze back to my reflection. My mascara was fine. My hair was fine. I wasn’t.
“I’m just a bit tense,” I admitted quietly, still fiddling with the mascara wand like it might distract her.
Hannah paused halfway through tying her boot, her expression softening in that way she does when she’s actually paying attention. “Because Dean’s gonna be there?”
I let out a tiny breath and nodded. She didn’t push. That was one of the things I loved about her. She could be loud and chaotic and nosy as hell, but when it mattered, she knew when to back off.
“You’ll be okay,” she said, smiling as she leaned against the doorframe with her arms crossed.
I looked at her, frowning. “You can’t know that,” I replied, my voice shaky.
“I do.” She looked right at me, her confidence clear, as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“How?” I asked, trying not to swallow hard, my throat feeling dry.
“Because you’re you.” She shrugged, a playful smile on her face, like that was enough to make me believe her.
I snorted, a small laugh escaping me. “Very convincing.” I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help smiling a little at her confidence.
She grinned as she walked over, dropping onto the edge of my bed with a soft bounce. “It wasn’t meant to be convincing. It was meant to be true,” she said, smirking like she knew exactly how dramatic she sounded.
I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth twitched. “You look really good, by the way,” she added, nudging my knee with hers.
I glanced down at myself, suddenly aware of every bit of my outfit. The grey plaid button‑up was slightly oversized, sleeves rolled to my elbows. We’d both nicked a few from the theatre department months ago and somehow never returned them. My denim shorts were simple, and the cowboy boots I’d dug out earlier made me feel like I was playing dress‑up.
“I look like I’ve stolen someone’s costume,” I muttered.
“We technically have stolen someone’s costume,” she said immediately.
Hannah then snorted, reaching out to flick the hem of my shirt. “Relax. You look cute. And honestly? Half the hockey house is gonna look like they raided a prop cupboard anyway.”
I let out a small laugh, the tension in my chest easing just a little.
“Hang on.” Hannah’s eyes lit up as she hopped off the bed, brushing her palms down her jeans. “I have an idea.”
Before I could ask, she crossed the room in three quick steps, yanked something out of her drawer, and tossed it at me. I caught it against my chest with a soft thud. A white vest.
I frowned down at it. “What is this?”
“Put it on,” she said, already smirking.
I stared at her, unimpressed. “Hannah.”
She pointed at me like a bossy older sister. “Just do it.”
I let out a dramatic sigh but pushed the plaid shirt off my shoulders, the fabric sliding down my arms. Hannah watched openly, chin propped on her hand, like she was supervising. I slipped the vest over my head, tugged it into place, then shrugged the button up back on.
The moment I looked down, my eyebrows shot up. The vest had a much lower neckline than I’d expected. “Oh, absolutely not,” I groaned, shaking my head in disbelief.
Hannah burst out laughing, falling back onto the bed with a bounce, her hair fanning out around her. “What’s wrong?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbows.
“This is much lower than I thought it was,” I said, tugging at the neckline of the vest.
“It’s fine,” she replied, waving her hand dismissively.
“Hannah,” I said, my voice rising slightly.
“You look good,” she insisted, a teasing smile on her lips.
“I look exposed,” I countered, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You’ve got a shirt on,” she pointed out, raising an eyebrow, with a shrug.
“Which is currently doing very little,” I muttered, glancing at my reflection with a frown.
She laughed again, leaning forward to adjust the collar of my plaid shirt, her fingers deftly fussing with it until she was satisfied, a look of determination on her face. “Stop worrying.”
I looked at myself in the mirror once more, smoothing the fabric down with my palms. It wasn’t terrible. It just wasn’t me. I wasn’t used to dressing for the purpose of being noticed. And tonight, the last person I wanted noticing me was the person I couldn’t stop thinking about.
Hannah reached up and tugged on the hem of my shirt, lifting it slightly before twisting the sides together and tying them into a neat little bow. “There.” She tilted her head, admiring her work like she was some kind of stylist. “Perfect.”
I smiled despite myself, watching her bounce off the bed and grab two cowboy hats from the desk. She tossed one toward me without warning. I caught it against my chest.
“Ready?” she asked, already slipping hers on.
I looked down at the hat in my hands, then toward the door. Not really. But I pushed myself to my feet anyway, brushing my palms down my shorts.
“Good, cause Tuck’s been blowing up my phone asking where we are,” she said, waving her phone like proof.
“Shock,” I smirked, slipping the hat on and adjusting it so it didn’t look ridiculous.
Hannah laughed, nudging my shoulder as she headed for the door. And together, we left the room.
The hockey house came into view as we turned the corner, and I actually stopped for a second, a little stunned. They had really gone all out.
The place looked like absolute chaos. The guys had not just chosen a cowboy theme. They had clearly spent a few dollars, raided the theatre department, and tried to make the house as western as possible. I was almost certain the theatre club were missing a few props.
Rope was strung across the porch, sagging in the middle like it was trying its best to pass for a lasso. The string lights were tangled through it in a way that could not be safe. A few hay bales sat by the steps, but unevenly, like whoever stacked them got bored halfway through. Next to the door, a huge cardboard horse stood guard, although its head drooped to one side and looked a bit creepy.
Inside, I could see bandanas taped to the windows with what was definitely hockey tape. A handful of paper stars that were definitely handmade were stuck to the walls, some crooked and some upside down.
But what really caught my eye was what hung from the living room window. A massive banner that fluttered slightly in the breeze.
I clapped a hand over my mouth, giggling as I pointed up at it. “Oh my god. Hannah. Look.”
She followed my finger, took one glance, and burst into laughter so loud it echoed down the street. “Stop. Stop. That’s incredible.”
“There is no way that was Tucker’s idea,” I said, still laughing. “Absolutely not. There's no way he knew about that."
"Dean, definitely put that up," she said immediately, wiping her eyes.
“Oh, definitely,” I echoed without hesitation.
Then I swallowed, realising how quickly I’d said it and how easily his name came out. It still felt so natural on my tongue.
“See?” she said, giving me a proud little nod. “This isn’t so bad.”
“It’s been thirty seconds,” I said, looking over at her with a knowing look.
“And you’re still alive.” She smirked, tipping her hat like she was in a film.
I smiled, shaking my head as I brushed a bit of hair back behind my ear. She grinned wider, clearly pleased with herself.
We pushed further into the room, weaving through people until I spotted a familiar face near the kitchen. Garrett was standing with Logan, both of them talking loudly over the music. Hannah noticed them at the same time I did.
“There they are,” she said, her hand brushing my arm as she pointed.
I smiled properly for the first time since we had arrived. “Garrett.”
His face lit up the second he saw us. He lifted his arm in a wave, then opened both arms wide.
“There she is,” he said, grinning as I walked straight into his hug. He squeezed me tight, warm and familiar, before pulling back.
“It’s good to see you.” I smiled.
“You too.” He gave me a quick once over, eyes flicking to my hat. “Nice hat.”
Logan laughed, shaking his head. “Very convincing, cowboy.”
Hannah stepped in beside Garrett, slipping her arm around his waist like it was second nature, and he rested his hand on her hip without even thinking about it.
I rolled my eyes at Logan before stepping forward to hug him too. He wrapped an arm around me, giving me a quick squeeze. I looked over his shoulder after chuckling quietly into his shoulder.
Everything inside me seemed to stop.
He was standing across the room. I hadn’t even seen him when we walked in. Now I couldn’t look anywhere else.
He was talking to someone, leaning slightly to hear them over the music, one hand resting casually in his pocket. He looked completely at ease. Like tonight was just another night. Like I wasn’t standing across the room trying to remember how to breathe.
He had a cowboy hat on, jeans, and a light blue plaid shirt that matched his eyes. He looked good. Too good. My stomach tightened.
Then his eyes lifted. Straight to mine.
For a moment, neither of us moved. His expression shifted, only slightly, but I saw it. Something flickered across his face before he looked away.
I swallowed, suddenly aware of Logan’s arm still around me. My pulse was thudding in my ears as my mind wandered away to that night.
The music was too loud. That was the first thing I remembered.
Bass shook through the floor beneath my feet, someone was shouting over the music beside me, and the entire house seemed to be moving around us. People were packed into every room, drinks in their hands, laughing and pushing past one another.
His fingers tightened around mine for a second, a quiet little pull that brought me closer to his side. “You good?” he asked, voice low.
He dipped his head slightly, eyes flicking over my face like he was making sure I meant it. “Good. Stay close.”
I felt my stomach flip. “I am close.”
“Not close enough,” he said, shifting his hand so our fingers laced properly, his palm pressing against mine. The warmth of it travelled straight up my arm.
I smiled, unable to help it. “You’re being dramatic.”
He finally let out a small laugh, the sound soft and warm. “Maybe. But I like knowing where you are.”
We'd been together long enough that being around him had become easy, and I cherished the way he always seemed to look out for me. I knew when he was about to make some stupid joke. I knew the look he'd give me when he wanted me to follow him somewhere.
Or at least, I thought I did.
He pulled me towards the kitchen, where a group of his old friends were gathered around the counter.
Dean had insisted I meet some of his old friends.
The second we walked over, someone grinned. “Look who finally showed up.”
The guy speaking looked like trouble in the most obvious way. Tall, lean, sharp jaw, with stupidly perfect blond hair pushed back like he thought he was posing for a summer catalogue. He had that restless, cocky energy too, the kind that said he’d either flirt with you or start a fight and genuinely wouldn’t see the difference. His icy blue eyes flicked over me, slow and assessing, like he was deciding whether I passed some private test he’d invented.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't start." His hand tightened around mine, just slightly, like he’d clocked the way the guy was looking at me. His thumb brushed over my knuckles again, slower this time, almost claiming.
The guy smirked. “Good to see you, man.”
Dean nodded, but he didn’t let go of my hand. “Yeah. You too.”
The guy’s gaze dropped to our joined hands, then back up to my face. He didn’t bother hiding the way he looked me over, like he was trying to figure out how I’d ended up here.
I gave him a polite smile, the kind that said I wasn’t impressed. “Nice to meet you.”
He barely nodded. “So you’re the girlfriend.” His eyes dragged over me in a way that made it obvious he thought he was being funny.
I smiled awkwardly. “Yeah.”
“Still together, then?” He asked it like he already knew the answer and was waiting to be entertained.
Dean laughed, not even looking at me. “Last time I checked.”
His old friends seemed to laugh at that.
I laughed too, mostly because everyone else did, but something twisted low in my stomach. The guy smirked like he’d won something, like he’d poked at me just to see if I’d react.
Dean didn’t say anything. He just kept smiling along with them, and I stood there wishing I didn’t feel so stupid for caring.
Another guy looked over at me, eyes dragging in a way that made my skin prickle. “How long’s this one lasted?”
I blinked, taken aback by how casually he said it, like I wasn’t standing right there.
Dean shook his head, grinning. “Fuck off.”
The guy smirked. “Just surprised you managed to keep one around.”
Dean laughed again, louder this time, like it was some old joke they’d all grown up telling.
A couple of the others joined in, nudging each other like it was all harmless fun.
I tried to smile, even though my stomach tightened. It was nothing. It was supposed to be nothing. I told myself that, even as the laughter kept going and Dean didn’t look at me once.
I stood there, pretending it didn’t sting, pretending it didn’t matter, pretending I wasn’t suddenly very aware that I was the outsider in a room full of people who knew exactly how to make me feel small.
"So," someone then looked at me. "Where you from?”
"England," I answered, and his friend’s face lit up immediately.
I frowned slightly. “What about it?”
“It’s good.” He said it like he was doing me a favour, like he’d just discovered something he could tease Dean about later.
Dean smirked. “She’s heard that about a thousand times.”
I looked at him, waiting for the usual softness he had when he said things like that. It wasn’t there.
There was something different about the way he was acting. Not with me. With them.
He seemed louder. More confident. Like he was slipping into a version of himself I’d only heard stories about, the one who used to run around New York with these boys, the one who didn’t think twice before laughing at someone else’s expense.
He nudged one of them, still grinning, and they all laughed like this was just how things were meant to be.
I stood there, trying not to feel like I’d just been pushed a little further out of the circle.
One of his friends slapped him on the shoulder, grinning like he’d been waiting to say it. “Didn’t think you’d ever settle down.”
Dean laughed, loud and easy. “Neither did I.”
The group cracked up again, all of them feeding off each other’s energy. I smiled because everyone else did, but it didn’t reach my eyes. My cheeks lifted, but the rest of me stayed still.
Dean didn’t notice. I stood there, trying to pretend it didn’t sting, trying to pretend I wasn’t suddenly very aware of how far away he felt, even with his friends crowding around him.
Later, I was standing beside him when a girl walked over.
I recognised her almost immediately. I’d seen her before, back in first year, on his socials, before we’d started dating. One of the girls he’d been with. The kind you remember without wanting to.
She smiled at Dean like they shared some private joke. “Dean.”
She glanced at me for half a second, then back at him, already dismissing me. “Didn’t know you were here.”
Her eyes moved over him, slow and familiar. “You look good.”
Dean gave a small laugh. “Thanks.”
She stepped a little closer, just enough to make my stomach tighten.
Not because I thought he’d do anything. I trusted him. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was the way the room shifted around us. The way she looked at him like she knew him better. The way he stood a little taller, shoulders looser, like he was slipping into someone he used to be.
I suddenly felt like I was standing outside something. Like there was a version of Dean that existed before me, and everyone in this room had met him first. Everyone here had stories I didn’t know, memories I wasn’t part of, jokes I wouldn’t get.
He laughed at something she said, and I watched the way his face changed. Louder. Sharper. More confident. The New York version of him. The one he never quite showed me.
I swallowed, trying to ignore the sting of it. Trying not to feel like I’d just been pushed out of the frame.
She touched his arm, fingers light, familiar. “You still play ice hockey?”
“Maybe I’ll come watch sometime.”
Dean smiled politely. “Sure.”
That was it. Nothing happened. He didn’t encourage her. He didn’t flirt back. He didn’t do anything wrong.
I stood beside him, feeling like I was watching a scene I wasn’t meant to be in. Like I was the extra in a moment between two people who had history, even if it didn’t mean anything now.
It wasn’t jealousy. Not really.
But then one of his friends called his name from across the room. Dean turned away from me. "What?"
He looked back at me. "I'll be two seconds."
He walked away, and I watched him disappear into the crowd, and for the first time that night, I felt completely alone.
I pulled back slightly from the hug, letting Logan’s arm fall away. “You okay?” Logan’s voice brought me back.
"Yeah," I said it too quickly, brushing my hands down my shorts like that would make it sound more believable.
Logan glanced at me, his eyebrows lifting slightly as I kept my eyes locked on Dean across the room. “I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile.
“You sure?” he asked, concern lacing his voice.
“Yeah.” I didn’t sound convincing, even to myself.
Logan followed my gaze, and the moment he realised who I was staring at, his expression softened. He let out a quiet sigh, leaning in slightly. “Y/N.”
I finally turned to him, meeting his gaze. He shifted closer, lowering his voice as if to shield our conversation. “It’s okay.”
“I know,” I replied, trying to sound more assured.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said gently.
“I’m not pretending,” I insisted, though my voice wavered.
He gave me a look that said he did not believe a single word. I glanced back toward Dean. He was not looking at me anymore. Somehow, that almost felt worse.
There was something horrible about noticing every tiny thing about someone you used to know so well.
The way he stood with his weight on one leg.
The way he smiled at whoever he was talking to.
The way he pushed his hair back without thinking, fingers brushing the brim of his hat.
All of it's familiar. All of it's too easy to recognise. My stomach tightened again. I hated that I still noticed.
Logan leaned closer, his voice low. "I can stay with you tonight, if you want."
I shook my head immediately, my heart racing. "No. It's fine," I replied, trying to sound convincing.
"Are you sure?" he asked, concern etched on his face.
"Yeah," I said, forcing a small smile.
"I just need a drink," I added, glancing toward the bar.
Logan raised an eyebrow, scepticism in his gaze. "A drink?" he repeated, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"Yes," I affirmed, crossing my arms defensively.
"That's your excuse?" he teased, a slight grin forming.
"It's a perfectly good excuse," I shot back, trying to maintain my composure.
He smiled slightly, the tension easing a bit. "Right."
I nudged his arm playfully. "Go and bother Garrett."
"Gladly," he replied, his expression shifting to one of determination.
He gave me one last look, clearly still unsure, before turning back towards Garrett.
I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the moment.
Hannah then appeared beside me, slipping her arm through mine with a comforting squeeze. "You okay?" she asked, her voice soft and concerned.
I nodded, though my heart felt heavy. "Yeah." I looked across the room again, my breath hitching.
Dean was still there, and even though I knew I should look away, I just couldn’t help myself.
Hannah noticed where I was staring, her brow furrowing a bit before she gently tugged on my arm. "Come on."
"Where to?" I asked, my voice barely cutting through the music.
"Let’s find Tucker," she said, scanning the crowd with her eyes.
I let her pull me through the sea of partygoers, my heart racing as I focused on the chaos around us, grateful for the distraction.
We weaved through groups of people, laughter and chatter buzzing in the air, until we finally spotted him in the living room. He was behind one of the beer pong tables, a cup in his hand, grinning like mad when he saw us. He strolled in wearing jeans that hugged him just right, a black button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, rugged boots, and of course, a cowboy hat perched wonkily on his head.
I felt a grin spread across my face when he finally spotted us. "Tucker!" I called out, waving my arms like a lunatic.
He barely had time to turn before I ran over and wrapped my arms around him in a tight hug. "Happy birthday!" I squealed, practically bouncing on my toes.
He laughed, returning the hug with a warmth that made my heart flutter. "Thank you."
I pulled away, taking a moment to look him up and down, my eyes wide. "You look great."
"Obviously," he replied, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.
I snorted, rolling my eyes playfully. "Don't let it go to your head," I teased, rolling my eyes as I nudged Tucker playfully.
Hannah stepped forward and hugged him too, her grin wide. "Happy birthday."
“Thanks, Han.” He glanced between us, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “You playing?”
I shot a look at the table, my brow furrowing. “Beer pong?”
He rolled his eyes dramatically. “No, competitive chess.”
I let out a laugh, shaking my head. “Fine.”
Tucker shuffled to the side, making room for us. “Get in.”
Hannah hopped to one side of the table, while I stood beside her, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach.
Tucker picked up a ping-pong ball, tossing it lightly in the air. “You’re on my team.”
“Why?” I asked, crossing my arms, feigning annoyance.
“Because I said so,” he replied, smirking.
“That’s not how teams work,” I shot back, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s my birthday,” he said, puffing out his chest like it was a grand declaration.
I sighed dramatically, rolling my eyes. “Fine.”
“Good,” he said, a satisfied grin plastered on his face.
We'd barely settled into place when Tucker looked towards the doorway. "Oh, perfect."
I followed his gaze. Dean was walking over.
He had a drink in his hand, and for a second I wondered if he'd been looking for Tucker. "Yo Tuck," he said, holding the drink up. "I got you a drink."
Then he saw me. He stopped. It was barely noticeable, but I caught it.
His expression shifted, his eyes staying on mine for a second longer than they should have. "Y/N."
My mind then began to wonder again, the same memory that always came back in pieces.
The music, the stupid comments.
The way Dean had laughed when his friends made jokes about me, like it was easier to laugh with them than admit they were being assholes.
The door had barely shut behind us before the tension that had followed us home finally snapped.
He wasn't having any of it, even tho I had already essentially told him how I felt in the Uber back.
I stood near the end of his bed, arms folded tightly across my chest, trying to keep myself together.
Dean was pacing in front of me, his footsteps uneven and restless, hands flexing at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them.
"You're being dramatic," he snapped, his voice cutting through the room.
I stared at him, stunned, my lips parting. "Excuse me?"
He stopped dead, running a shaky hand through his hair so hard it stuck out in all directions. "You heard me," he muttered, eyes darting away from mine.
"I heard you. I just can't believe you actually said it," I shot back, my voice trembling, anger and disbelief twisting together.
He threw up his arms, nearly knocking over the lamp on his dresser. "Because you're blowing the whole thing out of proportion."
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh, my arms tightening around myself like armour. "Oh, I'm blowing it out of proportion?"
"Yes," he bit out, jaw clenched, pacing again, this time tripping over his own shoes.
"You were being a dick," I said, voice low, my fingers digging into my arms until my nails left marks.
His eyebrows shot up so fast I almost laughed at the absurdity. "Oh, really?" he barked a humourless laugh, rubbing his forehead, smearing sweat across his skin. "We're calling each other names now?"
"You started it." My voice cracked. I shifted my weight, bumping into the bedframe, the mattress creaking under the pressure.
"I said you were being dramatic."
"Exactly," I spat, heat flooding my cheeks.
"That's not an insult," he shot back, voice wavering, eyes flashing.
"It is when you're saying it because I'm upset about something you did." I could feel my heart hammering, breaths coming in short bursts. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, swallowing the lump in my throat.
He looked away, jaw tightening so hard I thought he might snap. He shoved his hands into his pockets, knuckles white, body coiled like he might explode or fold in on himself.
I could feel my eyes burning, but I refused to cry. Not in front of him. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. I gripped my elbows so tightly it hurt.
"Your friends were so rude to me," I said, my voice raw and shaking as I swiped angrily at my cheek, refusing to let any tears fall. "They were making comments about my accent. They were making jokes about you actually keeping a girlfriend for once." I took a step forward, almost tripping over the edge of the rug. "And you just stood there laughing."
Dean fumbled with his phone, setting it facedown so hard it rattled on his nightstand. "I wasn't laughing at you."
"You were laughing." My voice cracked, sharp. I pressed my fists against my thighs to stop them trembling.
He dragged his hands down his face, smearing exhaustion across his features. "I was trying to keep things from getting awkward."
"By laughing with them?" I snapped, voice pitching high as I paced a frantic line near the foot of his bed, bumping into his laundry basket.
He threw his arms in the air, knocking an empty water bottle off the dresser. "What was I supposed to do?"
"Maybe say something?" I fired back, my breath coming out ragged. My heel caught on a discarded shirt, and I nearly stumbled again.
He scoffed, looking away, jaw twitching. His fingers drummed erratic, angry beats on the windowsill.
I stared at him, waiting, chest heaving, heart pounding so loud it felt like the room was echoing with it.
"Exactly," I whispered, voice hoarse, hugging myself tighter.
Dean looked back at me, his eyes wild and defensive. "What do you want me to say?" He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out in every direction.
"I wanted you to defend me," I said, my throat tight as I sank down on the edge of the bed, hands wringing the sheets.
"They were joking." He started pacing, shoes scuffing the floor, glancing everywhere but at me.
"They weren't joking with me, Dean." I clenched the bedspread until my knuckles went white.
"They didn't mean anything by it." He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You don't know that." My voice was barely audible, shaky. I tugged at a loose thread on the blanket.
"I know my friends," he said, voice hard, feet planted like he was bracing for a fight.
"And I know how I felt." I looked down, blinking hard, my leg bouncing uncontrollably. “They’re not even your friends Dean.”
His expression hardened. He folded his arms across his chest, turning away so I could only see the tense line of his jaw.
"Everything has to be about how you feel," he muttered bitterly.
I blinked, mouth open, breath catching. "What?"
"You heard me," he said, biting the inside of his cheek, refusing to meet my gaze.
"No, say it again." My voice trembled as I sat up straighter, hands gripping the mattress.
He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it."
"No. Go on," I pressed, voice rising, swallowing another sob.
"You've been looking for something to be upset about all night," he spat, finally looking at me, eyes blazing.
My mouth fell open, words choking in my throat. I pushed up to my feet, nearly knocking over his desk chair. "Are you serious?"
"Yes," he snapped, mouth twisted in frustration.
"God, you're such an asshole." I flung my hands up and a pillow tumbled off the bed behind me.
"And you're being pathetic." He jabbed a finger at the floor, pacing faster.
"I've been trying to tell you why I was uncomfortable," I said, voice catching as I wiped angrily beneath my eyes, "and you've spent the entire time telling me I'm overreacting."
"Because you are," he shot back, hands shaking as he gestured wildly.
I laughed, a sound sharp and broken, shoving a pile of laundry aside with my foot. There was nothing funny about any of this.
Dean rubbed his face, fingers dragging down harshly, leaving red streaks on his skin. "I don't want to fight with you." His voice came out hoarse, almost desperate.
"Then stop fighting with me." My fists balled at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I took a shaky step back, bumping into the dresser, sending a bottle of lotion clattering to the floor.
"I'm not the one starting this," he shot back, voice rising. He spun away, pacing, nearly tripping over the shoes scattered by the bed.
"You told me I was dramatic." My voice shook. I kicked at a pile of dirty laundry just to have something to do with my feet, the tension buzzing in my muscles.
"Because you are acting dramatic." He flung his arms out, knocking a stack of books off his nightstand. They hit the floor with a thud, but neither of us looked down.
"And you're acting like a complete dick." I hurled the words at him, voice raw, grabbing the edge of his blanket and twisting it in my fists.
He stared at me, breathing hard. His chest rose and fell, frantic, as if he was about to lunge or bolt. The only sound was our breathing, ragged and uneven, echoing off the walls.
For a second, neither of us said anything. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. Dean’s jaw twitched as he looked anywhere but at me.
The silence somehow hurt more than the shouting.
Then Dean scoffed, loud and bitter. He looked towards the ceiling, rubbing the back of his neck so roughly it must have hurt. "So what? You're acting like you want to break up?"
The words hit me harder than they should've. I sucked in a breath, sharp and shaky, clutching my own elbows, trying to hold all the pieces of myself together. My knees felt weak; I leaned back against the wall, needing its support.
I went still. A lamp wobbled where I had bumped the table. Dean seemed to realize what he'd said almost immediately, his eyes darting to mine, wide with regret, but neither of us took it back.
I looked down at my hands, twisting my fingers together until my knuckles turned white. My heart pounded so loud I could barely hear anything else. Maybe I had been waiting for him to say it. Maybe I'd been thinking it myself.
"Maybe we should." The words came out cracks and splinters, barely above a whisper.
His face changed, eyes flashing. "What?" He stepped forward, stumbling over his desk chair.
I swallowed, mouth dry, brushing stray hair away from my damp cheeks. "Maybe we should break up." I could barely get the words out. My voice broke.
"No." He didn’t hesitate, voice breaking through the fog so quickly it almost made me look up.
"Dean…" My lips trembled. I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead, trying to keep the world from tilting.
"No. Don’t do that." He lunged forward, hand half-raised, then let it fall, rubbing at his jaw instead.
"Do what?" I choked out, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hand, leaving a streak across my face.
"Don’t just decide we’re over because we had one shitty night." His voice was ragged, cracking at the edges. He paced away from me, kicking a pair of socks under the bed as he moved.
"It’s not one night." I shook my head, shoulders hunched, knuckles pressing into my thighs as I tried to stay upright.
"Then what is it?" He sounded almost desperate, grabbing onto the bedpost, white-knuckled.
I looked at him, taking a ragged breath, blinking hard to clear my vision. "It’s everything." My voice was nearly gone. I collapsed onto the edge of the bed, shoulders shaking.
He shook his head, voice rising, "That’s bullshit." He slammed a fist into the wall, making the picture frames rattle.
"It’s not." I hugged myself, rocking slightly, eyes fixed on a stain in the carpet.
"You’ve been fine with me until now." He jabbed a finger toward me, lost and furious.
"I haven’t." Tears blurred my vision. I swiped them away, but more kept coming.
"You have." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, arms flailing, breath coming fast.
"I’ve been trying to be." My voice cracked, my body curling inward.
His expression faltered. He looked suddenly lost, hands falling to his sides. He watched me crumble but didn’t know how to stop it.
I looked away before he could see how close I was to breaking, blinking hard, shoulders trembling.
"I don’t feel like myself anymore." The words fell out, soft, almost inaudible.
Dean stepped closer, stumbling over a shoe, reaching out and then pulling back. "Don’t say that." His words shook.
"It’s true." I wiped my nose with my sleeve, shoulders shaking.
"No, it isn’t." He shook his head, voice pleading, hands pressed to his temples.
"It is." I tucked my knees up on the bed, hugging them, rocking.
"You don’t mean it." He crouched down in front of me, voice low and broken.
I finally looked at him, eyes red, vision swimming. "Don’t tell me what I mean."
His jaw clenched. He shoved away from me, pacing, knocking into a chair.
"Maybe you don’t." My voice was a whisper, body shaking.
"Don’t do this." He grabbed the back of the chair, gripping it so hard I thought it might break.
"I’m not doing anything." My voice was hollow. I stared at the floor.
"You’re ending us." His voice broke.
"I said maybe we should." I shrugged, feeling empty.
"That’s the same thing." His voice was sharp, exasperation cutting through the air.
My throat tightened. I pressed my hand to it as if that could stop the ache.
"I don’t want to keep fighting like this." My words sounded foreign, ragged.
"Then we won't." He almost shouted, hands flailing.
"That's not how it works." My voice was small. I pulled my knees tighter to my chest.
"Yes, it is." He sounded desperate, voice cracking.
"No, Dean." I shook my head, tears dripping down my chin.
"Then tell me what you want me to do." He knelt in front of me, face crumpling.
I stared at him, chest heaving. For once, he didn’t look angry. He looked terrified. That almost broke me more than anything.
"I wanted you to care," I whispered, voice trembling.
"I do." His voice was a plea, hands reaching for mine but stopping short.
"Then why didn’t it feel like it?" I pulled my hands away, wiping tears on my jeans.
He didn’t have an answer. His mouth opened, then closed again, eyes shining with frustration and tears.
I wiped quickly beneath one eye, sniffling. "I can’t keep doing this." My voice was broken glass.
"Don’t." He reached for me again, hands shaking.
"Dean." I shook my head, sobbing now, shoulders wracked.
"Please." He sounded like he was begging, something raw and unsteady in his voice.
I’d never heard him sound like that before. My chest ached. My vision swam.
"I love you," I said quietly, forcing the words out between hiccups.
He looked at me, eyes desperate. "Then don’t leave."
I shook my head, tears finally spilling over for real. "That’s the problem."
His face fell, shoulders collapsing.
I could see it in his eyes.
We loved each other. And somehow, that wasn’t enough anymore.
I grabbed my bag from beside the door with shaking hands, nearly dropping it, everything inside rattling. Dean didn’t move, just watched, silent and broken.
And when I walked out of his room, slamming the door behind me, I knew that was the last time we’d be together.
The noise around us suddenly seemed louder.
"Dean," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.
Neither of us said anything, the air thick with unspoken words.
Tucker looked between us, sensing the tension. Then, thankfully, he stepped in, clapping his hands together. "You have to play with us."
Dean glanced at him, eyebrows raised. "What?"
"Beer pong," Tucker said, gesturing toward the table with a grin.
Dean looked at the table, then back at Tucker, his expression conflicted.
"I'm supposed to be giving you this," he said, holding out the drink.
"You can give it to me after," Tucker replied, reaching out to take the drink from Dean's hand before he could argue.
"Problem solved," Tucker declared, a triumphant smile on his face.
Dean laughed quietly, shaking his head, a hint of amusement breaking through his uncertainty. "Fine," he said, rolling his eyes.
He turned to the table, scanning the setup. "I'll be on Tucker's team," he announced, stepping forward.
"Obviously," Tucker said, moving slightly to make room for Dean.
Hannah picked up the ball, her focus intense.
I watched her line up her shot, trying very hard not to think about the fact that Dean was now standing beside me, close enough that I could feel his presence without looking.
She threw the ball, and it bounced off the rim. "Fuck," she muttered, frustration evident in her voice.
Tucker laughed, shaking his head. "That's embarrassing."
"Shut up," Hannah shot back, a playful glare directed at him.
I smiled despite myself, the tension easing just a bit.
Dean glanced towards me, a smirk playing on his lips. "Didn't think I'd see you here."
I looked at him, my heart racing. "It's Tucker's birthday."
He nodded, his expression softening. "Right." There was a pause, the moment stretching between us. "Of course," he added, his voice quieter.
I looked back at the table, trying to focus on the game.
Dean shifted beside me, hands resting loosely in his pockets, his posture relaxed yet guarded. "I just didn't think you'd come," he said, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.
I swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. "I nearly didn't."
His eyes flicked towards me, searching. "Why?"
I looked at him for a second, the memories flooding back, before shaking my head. "No reason."
He nodded slowly, a hint of disappointment in his gaze. "Yeah."
Neither of us said anything else, the silence heavy.
Tucker picked up the ball, breaking the moment. "Dean, you're up."
Dean looked away from me and towards the table, the game pulling him back into the moment.
"Right," he said, stepping forward, leaving me standing there with my hands wrapped around my cup, trying to pretend my heart wasn't beating far too quickly for a stupid game of beer pong.
By the time we'd played a few more rounds, I'd completely lost track of the score, and I'd have way too many beers for my liking.
Tucker was still insisting we were winning, his words slurring together as he leaned heavily against the table.
"We're not winning," Hannah said, her voice slightly wobbly.
"We're absolutely winning," Tucker shot back, a goofy grin plastered on his face.
"You've missed three shots," Hannah pointed out, rolling her eyes.
"Strategic misses," he declared, waving his hand dismissively, nearly spilling his drink.
I laughed, leaning against the edge of the table, feeling the warmth of the alcohol coursing through me.
The house felt warmer now. More crowded. The music had gotten louder, and there were people everywhere, swaying and laughing, making it difficult to hear anything properly.
Dean was standing beside me again, his posture relaxed but slightly unsteady.
Every now and then, he'd say something under his breath, usually just enough to make me laugh, his breath smelling of beer.
It felt strangely familiar.
At one point, I caught myself smiling at something he'd said and immediately looked down at my cup, swirling the remnants of my drink.
Dean noticed, his brow furrowing slightly. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low and slightly slurred.
"Yeah," I replied, though my heart raced.
He studied me for a second, his gaze lingering. "You keep saying that."
"Because I am," I insisted, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
He smiled slightly, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Right."
Tucker called for another round, but Dean didn’t seem to hear him. He was staring at my wrist, where my bracelet sparkled under the dim party lights.
I looked at him, confused. "What?"
He pointed at my bracelet and lightly touched my arm. It made me shiver. "Did you lose one of these?"
I frowned and shook my head. His gaze made my heart race. "No."
"Right, cause, I swear I found one in my room the other day," he said, lowering his voice like it was a secret.
I turned to him, curious. My heart fluttered. "You did?"
He nodded, a playful grin on his face. "Yeah."
"Which one?" I asked, leaning in closer, wanting to know more.
"I don't know. It's upstairs," he said, his eyes sparkling with a challenge.
I looked at him, feeling annoyed and wanting it back. "I want it."
He grinned, his eyes full of mischief. "Figured you would."
"Dean," I said firmly, crossing my arms and giving him a steady look.
"What?" he replied, pretending to be innocent, a smirk on his face.
I leaned in a bit, lowering my voice as the party noise faded. "Where is it?"
He glanced at the stairs, his face serious now. "In my room."
I hesitated. The idea of going upstairs with him made my stomach twist. I felt excited and scared at the same time.
"Come on," he said softly, leaning closer. His breath was warm against my skin. "I'll get it."
I looked back at Hannah. She was deep in a debate with Tucker, both of them laughing. Their joy felt so different from the tension between Dean and me.
I turned back to Dean, feeling a rush of adrenaline.
He smiled, looking pleased, and started to walk toward the stairs. His steps were a bit wobbly, like the alcohol had made him less steady.
I followed him, the party noise fading with each step. We were surrounded by muffled music and the sound of our footsteps in the hallway. The air felt heavy with unspoken words.
For the first time that night, it was just the two of us. That felt much more daunting than being with a hundred people.
Dean pushed his bedroom door open, stepping inside before holding it for me. I hesitated for half a second before walking in.
It looked exactly the same. At least, at first glance.
The same bed against the wall. The same desk beneath the window. The same hockey sticks propped in the corner, the same old hoodie thrown over the back of his chair.
For a second, it felt like I'd stepped backwards in time.
Then I noticed what was missing.
I used to have pictures scattered around his room. Us at parties, stupid selfies, one from the beach that I'd always made fun of because neither of us was looking at the camera.
So were the little things I'd gradually left behind without even thinking about it. My hair tie that used to sit around his lamp. The book I'd left on his desk. The little bottle of perfume I'd forgotten one night, and chose to leave.
Just a quick reminder that I used to be part of this place.
I glanced around again. "It feels just like before."
Dean shut the door behind me. "Uh, yeah."
My gaze drifted to the empty spot above his desk. "You took down the photos."
He paused for a moment. "Yeah."
I nodded, trying to act like it didn’t sting. "Okay."
He met my eyes. "I didn’t throw them away."
Surprised, I turned to him. "You didn’t?"
"No." He shifted a bit, the way he said it making me look closer. "They're just... somewhere else."
He shoved his hands into his pockets, and I swallow. "Okay."
The room suddenly felt much smaller, and Dean glanced towards his desk. "The bracelet's in here somewhere."
I nodded, looking away from him. "Take your time."
He then crossed the room and opened the drawer beside his bed. "Found it." He held out the bracelet.
I smiled, taking the bracelet from him, my fingers brushing against his. "I thought I'd lost this."
I looked up, confusion knitting my brows. "What?"
I laughed softly, the sound light but edged with frustration. "Very helpful."
He smiled, but the warmth in his expression faded almost as quickly as it appeared.
For a moment, we were silent. The sounds of the party downstairs felt far away.
I put the bracelet on my wrist. The cool metal shone in the dim light. I turned to him, my heart racing.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
"You're welcome," he replied, looking at me.
Neither of us moved. The air felt tense.
I should have gone downstairs to join the fun.
He should have opened the door to break the silence.
Instead, Dean stepped closer. His presence felt warm.
My breath caught. The world outside faded.
"Y/N..." he said softly, teasing me with a smirk.
I looked up at him, surprised by how familiar he felt. "What's with the look?" I asked, trying to sound casual, but my voice shook a little.
He laughed softly, his eyes full of mischief. "Just thinking about how you used to get flustered when I teased you."
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. "I did not."
"Sure you didn't," he said, leaning in a bit. "You were always easy to read."
I felt my cheeks heat up and looked away, trying to regain my composure. "Well, maybe I've grown out of that."
"Is that so?" he asked, a playful grin on his face. "You still look a bit flustered right now."
"Shut up," I said back, but I couldn't help but smile.
He leaned back a little, his expression softening. "It's good to see you. Even if you are still easy to tease."
I met his gaze, feeling a mix of emotions. "Yeah, it’s good to see you too."
We were silent for a moment. The air felt thick with unspoken words. I could feel his warmth and the scent of his cologne.
"Maybe we should stop dancing around this," he said, his tone more serious.
"Maybe," I replied, my heart racing, unsure of where this was going.
He stepped closer, his eyes searching mine. He lingered for a moment before leaning in. The teasing atmosphere changed into something more serious.
As I closed my eyes, I felt a rush of emotions. His breath brushed against my lips, igniting a spark I thought was gone.
When he pulled back, the world around us faded into a distant noise. We didn’t say anything. The silence felt heavy with unspoken words.
We stood there, looking into each other's eyes, aware of what had just happened. The kiss was electric, reminding me of everything we once shared. But it felt different now. I felt the weight of our past, the memories of laughter and love mixed with the pain of our breakup.
I grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Our lips met again. He laughed softly against my mouth, and it made me feel excited.
"You'll regret this in the morning," he said, his breath warm and teasing.
"I know," I replied. I couldn't help but kiss him deeper. The spark between us was familiar.
It felt so good to kiss him again, like I was finally home. My fingers got lost in his hair. I could feel him relax as he held me close.
"Then..." he started, his voice low.
"Just kiss me, Dilaurentis," I said with a smirk. "I want you so much."
He paused for a moment, looking into my eyes. Then he kissed me again, his lips pressing against mine with a passion that took my breath away. The noise of the party faded away as we focused on each other.
As the kiss went on, I felt a mix of emotions, hunger, need, and a bit of fear. I pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes. I realised we were crossing a line we couldn't go back from.
Everything that had happened between us hung in the air, but I didn’t care. I wanted this. I wanted him, I thought, as he backed me toward the edge of his bed.
