but this time, we'll show them,
we'll show them all how much we mean
I close my eyes, only for a moment and the moment’s gone. All my dreams pass before my eyes with curiosity.
She’s kind of like the little sister I never wanted.
Dean likes kissing Robin. After school, before practice, on the porch, sneaking into bedrooms with hushed giggles and frantic lips. He learns how to kiss with his whole body, and how memorizing the taste of her tongue can make her smile. He learns that he likes the feel of dark hair tangled in his hands and the graze of teeth on his lower lip, just enough to make him gasp.
He likes kissing when its languid and easy, a winding river and no looming destination. He likes breathing the same air as Robin and whispering dumb secrets: I hate Nirvana and I want to see Spain too and Getting old here wouldn’t be so bad.
Dean likes the kissing, and the not-kissing, too: Walking hand in hand. Ducking his head when his friends on the team jeer at his arm wrapped around Robin’s shoulders. Promising to call and watching her face light up when she knows that he will.
Sometimes, he wishes he could stay, watch football games and put Robin’s hand in his pocket when it gets cold. Sometimes, when her lips press soft against his and she sighs, just a little, maybe nothing, maybe his name, Dean believes for a second that he could.
When he can’t, he thinks he was stupid to try.
(It’s worth it either way.)
You've been holding up a long time
And all this longing
And the ships are left to rust
That's what the water gave us