Dean Di Laurentis

Gabriella’s apartment — Wednesday, 10:47 pm

Three beats.

Dry. Nervous.

Gabriella stopped in the middle of the room, surprise. It was already late. And she definitely didn’t expect anyone.

When he opened the door, Dean Di Laurentis was there. Gray sweatshirt, messy hair, red eyes as if I haven’t slept properly for days. She and Dean had shared a surprisingly hot and intimate night a few days ago, but it was casual, or that’s what she thought.

She was silent.

Him too.

“Hi,” he said, finally, his voice low, almost hesitant.

“Dean...” She crossed her arms. “Why did you come here?”

He let out a short laugh - almost without humor.

“Because I’m freaking out. I can’t train, I can’t eat properly, and when I sleep...” He ran his hand through his hair. “You’re there.”

He took a step forward.

“I tried, okay? I swear. But... fuck, Gabriella. You fucked me all over. Here.” He pointed to the chest. “I’m screwed.”

She hesitated. Just for a second. The heart beating too fast.

“What do you want?”

Dean took a deep breath. He looked into her eyes.

“Another night.”