Your head is spinning, you can't breathe, and this is where you are right now.

This is how you got here.

You have him over for movies tonight because you've managed to convince yourself that you're finally strong enough to do it. You were the one to actually issue the invitation this time and you're allowing it to take place in your own apartment instead of hanging out in a bar or a restaurant or something equally less personal and easier to get through. That's the way the two of you have been spending all of your free time together for nearly three months now and you hate it.

You hate not being able to hear the subtle hint of Texas rounding out his vowels over the noise of the bar patrons, and you hate that even in a well-lit restaurant you can't really see all the little golden flecks in his eyes. You hate that now without work, an annoying waitress, or at least fifty people and some sport blaring as a buffer between you, things are off in a way that makes your chest ache.

It brings tears to your eyes at random times when you stop and actually think about what your relationship has been reduced to. Jared had never been a Tom or a Mike or countless other people in Hollywood. He'd never been the guy you needed a television and some alcohol to get through a night with. Nothing ever took up space between you before, not even the silences that would settle when all you did was sit next to each other. Your silences had been filled with subtle movements and different breathing patterns and thought processes that you both miraculously had the ability to read loud and clear.

Now it seems like you're both consciously throwing any and everything you can fit into the fucking ocean that sits between you just so that you can get through a few hours without acknowledging just how fucked everything's become since you stopped trying to screw each other through a number of different surfaces.

And you'll never forget the day it ended, the day he'd come to you oozing depression and looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. You'd known instantly that you two were going to end. How could you have missed his intent when his eyes were so damn tortured and the way he said your name was the sound of a suicide, the sound of him tearing out his own heart and bleeding at your feet? You'd simply nodded and hugged him for what felt like hours trying to stop his trembling, trying to will away the desolation that was slowly taking over both of you before either of you had even really said anything.

You'd watched him intently while you listened to him read well thought out words and points from a crumpled McDonald's napkin. When he'd finished you'd thrown a few of your own reasons on top of his and together you'd compiled enough sense and logic to end what was hands down the most physically and emotionally gratifying thing you'd been lucky enough to come across in your entire lives.

It was by no means that simple to live with. You didn't know what to do with yourself after that. Hell you still don't, not really. Reverse isn't a gear the two of you were ever very familiar with and you're both stripping the transmission trying to shift there now. From the moment you met him you'd felt an instant connection that had rivaled the one you had with Chris. Shit, after a good month or so he'd settled in deeper than Chris had in a year and you hadn't looked back or questioned a second of it.

That was something you weren't used to at all. You're the guy who's made enough bad calls to know the value in thinking things through. You look before you leap. You look, you measure, you re-calculate, you practice and then based on all your gathered information, you may or may not say fuck the leap altogether. But not with him. For reasons you never even took the time to try to explain to yourself, you just went with Jared. He breezed into your life and swept you up and you've been riding on that wind ever since.

Well at least you were until the window was shut and the wind beneath you disappeared and you were dropped on your ass.

It's uncanny the way he'd touched you so deep so fast. As a kind of unofficial rule, you're generally reserved until you trust someone enough to show them who you really are. Too many years of being seen primarily as a pretty face and secondarily as anything else, and dealing with all the consequences of that, has seriously fucked up your faith in people and you're the first to admit it. You prefer to interact from behind a wall until you're certain you won't get screwed by opening up a little. With Jared that lasted long enough for him to introduce himself and for you to reciprocate.

You went from costars to Jared and Jensen to JaredandJensen in all of about a month and a half, give or take a week. You were still well within the first month when you were telling him every dirty little secret you'd ever had with no alcohol being involved to loosen your tongue. You also let him see you in glasses before the one month mark. You were still inside of the second month when you told him about the little thing you had for guys and crossed that off as the last secret on your list.

For his part, well you knew just about everything about every Padalecki he had knowledge of somewhere within the first day. You'd spoken to his mother for an hour by the end of that first week. You don't think you'd even made it to the third week when he was openly crying on your shoulder wracked with guilt after he'd jostled Sadie's leg during some playful wrestling and she'd walked around with a whimpering limp for about fifteen minutes because of it. And yeah, you think it was right about that time, nearing the third week or somewhere in the middle of it, when you both confessed that the other was your bestfriend.

And then you just drifted in and out of different levels of friendship and intimacy, graceful as water and unconscious as breathing. You chose his apartment for him and slipped one of the keys on your key-ring two minutes after he signed the lease. About four hours after that, you were driving off the lot in his choice car while he followed behind you smiling in your rear-view the whole time.

The time you spent apart from one another shrank until it nearly disappeared and you're not even sure you can map out a beginning, middle or end to that. It's like one day you had your own apartment and your own car and then the next minute all your stuff was in Jared's spare bedroom and he was comfortably driving your car more than you were. With his own key no less. His pink shirts went from his own hamper to getting twisted up around your jeans on laundry day and your favorite foods were sharing the kitchen with his. And all of this didn't even hit you until you found yourself in IKEA looking at a couch that you thought would look perfect in the living room.

You'd smiled a little and sent a picture of the couch to him from your camera phone. Two minutes later he'd texted you back, and the next day the couch was sitting perfectly in place in the living room as well as the two end-tables you'd also picked up on a whim.

And that's the way things went, a smooth unconscious slide in and out of each other's space and thoughts, on up to the point where he woke one morning with the urge to fuck you senseless and you with the urge to let him do just that. You were in the kitchen watching the coffee drip into the pot when you sensed him behind you, just staring. You felt a prickle of awareness and you felt something heavy in his gaze, something different and something that excited you. You were turned around quickly but gently by his huge hands and then you could read the want stretched plainly across his face, saw it glinting there in lust blown eyes. For a moment all you could do was blink in the face of all that want, and need and lust. All of that for you, from him. You were hard in a second and you tilted your head back the same second he leaned in and Jesus, but it was perfect.

You had sex right there in the kitchen with you bent over the counter and him pressed up tight against your back alternately nipping at your earlobes and neck and whispering filth into the sweaty skin of your back and shoulder blades. It was beyond hot, it was the two of you, and it was fucking perfect.

It was this amazing little thing just for the two of you. You were both still involved with your respective girlfriends and that was easy enough to forget when you were together touching and kissing and coming so hard you saw Technicolor bursts behind your eyes. It wasn't just the sex though, not by a long shot. It was the easy hum of comfort that flowed between you, that feeling of right and certainty that had been wrapped around the two of you from day one. It was the link that threaded you together for coming up on three years now, that unseen force of inevitability that neither of you could shake. It was that that made it easy for you to smile brightly at Sandy when she came around and cuddled up to the man she one day planned to marry. The man who looked at you like you held every answer in the whole world, the man you spent whole nights fucking into oblivion. The very same man that was constantly on your mind with every kiss and touch you laid on Danneel.

Things were fine for awhile and then the real world came knocking at the door you two kept firmly closed. Rumors had increased about the two of you and people were talking a little louder than before. That meant a few more people felt the need to jump in. There was Eric with his semi-panicked questions and conclusions about your careers and the show's ratings. He'd made the two of you promise to keep anything that went beyond platonic completely under wraps, and you had to bite your tongue almost in half to keep from calling him the biggest fucking idiot you'd ever met. The fact that he'd had to call you into his office to tell you something that was glaringly obvious irritated you. The fact that it had little if not nothing to do with him had your fingers twitching against the urge to curl into frustrated fists.

Jared's mother was next with her heavy-handed hints about weddings and babies and Sandy and Danneel. The fiery depths of Hell also made a select few appearances, by way of warning, you guess, or something like that, most likely in what she thought was a preventative measure. She'd make sure to casually mention something she'd read about the two of you on the internet and then laugh about it while she'd elaborately point out all the reasons she knew it couldn't possibly be true. And, oh boy, she'd had plenty of reasons. Neither of you were stupid enough not to read the thinly veiled meddling beneath her pleasant bantering. When things such as your friendship and your girlfriends and even Leviticus came up, it was all you could do not to tell her you were fucking him nearly every night just to shut her up. You honestly don't see how he handled that shit everyday. She'd only caught you two or three times and you were ready to hang up on her ten minutes in, Texas manners and Jared's mother be damned.

Then there was Sandy who came in on a fucking mission. She was in Vancouver every other weekend and stayed for three or four days. She took every opportunity to display her place in his life, and as much as it irritated you, it was also a little amusing. Seeing her walking around in his shirts and cooking meals and doing his laundry was vaguely funny. It was funny because you knew that every overly possessive gesture she was making really made no difference. On your lunch break on set he was still going to blow you in your trailer for a few perfect minutes before you pulled him up off his knees and spread him out on the tiny bed for a quick hard fuck. She could prance around being Little Suzy Homemaker all she wanted but you still had him and that wasn't going to change.

Not until it eventually did.

Your girl didn't seem to care one way or the other about the rumors and the hushed murmurs going on around the CW. You hadn't really expected anything less from her. She's a smart girl who looks out for herself first and foremost and that's why you chose her. She's not the type to cling for dear life and she doesn't expect a ring from you either. She gives you your space and you give her hers and that works for the two of you. She was probably screwing someone else at the time and that worked for you too since you were doing the same thing. There's very little emotional connection on her side and since Jared bent you over that countertop there's been zero emotional connection on yours.

He didn't like her on sight, almost despised her actually, for the same reasons you thought she was perfect for you. He hated that she was nearly out of the relationship already and only putting up a front. He claimed he didn't want to see you hurt like that and you knew he was being hypocritical about the whole thing, considering you and him were both cheating, but it still made you smile a little to see him so protective.

Each time Danneel came up in conversation you eventually ended up sprawled out somewhere with your head on his chest and him wrapped around you in a position that screamed possessive. The amazing thing, the thing that warmed you in places you'd thought were perpetually frozen, is that sex was the reason for this close cuddling about fifty percent of the time if not slightly less. Whether sex was involved or not, he just felt the need to hold you close and reassure both of you that even though she got your body and the right to claim you in public, he was the one who got the important things. You could feel the finality in his grip when he was in that frame of mind, could almost taste his strong belief in fate. He would never say the words out loud, couldn't possibly because words like that held no place in the reality that you shared, but you could hear the silent promises in the way he held you tight, the way his fingers traveled lazily up and down your spine like they'd always had a right to be there. Like they'd be there forever.

Things continued on for awhile after the start of what you'd both jokingly called the interventions. You lasted almost an entire seven months more despite Eric and the show and everyone and everything else that was determined to put a stop to what you two were doing. Those obstacles didn't come between you, but you could see the strain of the relationship start to take its toll on him. You'd known how to read him within weeks of meeting him and you could clearly see that he was guilty for having to hide. He thought he was belittling you or something along those lines and it was eating at him. You tried to assure him in every way you could that you were okay but he's very emotional and loyal to a fault, especially to the people he cares for. In the end it was the thought of him keeping you as his dirty little secret that pushed him to read you those words from that napkin, his body shaking so hard his teeth nearly chattered.

Slowly, piece by piece, you moved your stuff back to you own apartment. Your own apartment. Those words echo hollow and empty even in your head, three words you still haven't dared to say out loud in just as many months. Your own apartment. Jesus, independence never sucked so much. The couch and end-tables you picked out stayed with him and that's just as well. They'd never look or feel right in your apartment, not in a space you don't even look or feel right in yourself.

You took your car with you, too, the car he still has a key to, the car that he fucking picked out. Every time you climb into the driver's seat you never have to adjust it and that causes a lump to form in the back of your throat, the kind you can barely breathe past. The radio station is always your favorite and that almost makes you cry every goddamn time you get in your car. You didn't have it in you to remove his stuff, so you see his jacket in your backseat everyday as well as a half empty pack of his favorite chewing gum in your front passenger side cup holder. They taunt you everyday and you almost considered calling a cab to take you everywhere you wanted to go so you wouldn't have to deal with it at all. You nixed that idea half a second later when you decided you'd rather be around his stuff and be mocked by it than not be around it at all.

It's still a struggle not to break down and scream bloody murder when you face the reality of what you had and what you've lost. He'd played so many parts in your life and you'd let yourself get comfortable with all of them foolishly thinking things would never change. Now when you take a step back and take inventory of what's around you it's a sad thing to see. You still have a costar that's dependable and dedicated. Your bestfriend is still right in front of you but seemingly a million miles away. Your lover is long gone. There are no more fingers on your spine to make promises that could evidently only end up broken. There are no more possessive touches or annoyed growls when you mention the attractive redhead with the pretty, vacant eyes. You still have that redhead though and sometimes the thought of her makes you queasy.

Things between you and her are cold enough to freeze Hell just like they've always been and you have no idea why that suddenly makes you sick to your stomach. You never have a clue what she thinks or what she does at any given point on any given day. When you touch her you couldn't even guess what her thoughts are and you're positive she couldn't care less about yours. Sex comes less and less frequently and when it happens the release is empty, leaves you feeling cold and vaguely dirty. You don't cuddle her and she doesn't care because she's usually up and out of the bed five minutes after you've tied off the condom. You actually like that she leaves easily and doesn't make it harder than it is because the second she's out the door you're in the shower trying to convince yourself that it's shampoo stinging your eyes and not the longing for a gorgeous brunette with cat-like eyes and legs that go for miles.

The show, thankfully, doen't suffer at all. You and he are both way too professional to let that happen and neither of you wanted to mess anything up for the other so you threw yourselves into making it perfect. In fact your ability to act desolate and depressed seemed to go through the roof. You watched as Sam became more Jared than not and you couldn't tell where Dean ended and you began anymore and it killed you to know that no one else could tell the difference. No one else noticed that you and him required less and less time to put yourselves into your characters' headspaces. The two of you were practically walking straight on set and doing this shit without having to search for motivation or take quiet time to become someone else.

The only thing Eric and company noticed was the ratings boost and the amount of girls typing in capitol letters on the internet. They took advantage of your newfound depths and started writing some of the heaviest angst you'd ever seen and that's including your time on Days. At the rate Sera was going you figured for the finale they were just going to have the Winchester boys kill a demon and then slit their wrists right before driving the Impala off a fucking cliff. Yes, it was getting that heavy.

But that wasn't all that life decided to heap on you, oh no. Having a car that was clearly against you, an apartment you felt out of place in, a girlfriend who could only be classified as a stranger and scripts that had your character slipping deeper and deeper into the point of no return wasn't enough. On top of all of that you had to watch him walk around with his cellphone glued to his ear day in and day out. You had to listen to his submissive responses and too frequent apologies. All of a sudden when Sandy came to Vancouver she was always on set, always alternately watching you like a hawk and then pretending she didn't notice you, always riding him about any and everything whether real or imagined. It wasn't hard to figure out that she'd found out somehow and was giving him hell for it at every opportunity. You could easily guess at the reasons he was putting up with it too, but you still wanted to slap the shit out of her for the way she was treating him.

That's really what did it, what made you go back and reconsider everything. He wasn't happy anymore and that was criminal seeing as how his default setting was overjoyed. He rarely smiled and when he did it was a pale imitation of that Padalecki kilowatt grin. It seemed like you were never happy either and it didn't take a geniuses to figure out that it was because you were both idiots. You'd applied logic and reason to something that had never taken any thought or planning at all. Everything that had ever happened between the two of you had happened at its own pace in its own time and neither of you had lifted a finger to push it any way it had gone. It seemed the second you'd both stepped in trying to alter the course was the second that you'd both signed your lives over to Hell.

And your intentions had been good and the decision had been a mature one. It was possibly the most well thought out thing you'd participated in outside of Supernatural itself. But this wasn't a matter left up to sense, never had been. This was a matter of the heart, had been from the beginning and you'd both chosen to break both hearts involved for reasons that didn't add up to shit in the end.

So you invited him over to your place so that you could really look at him and really hear him and just be close to him again. He had to be having the same thoughts as you because you were always on the same page. He had to be sick of the distance and depression and above all else he had to realize what a huge fucking mistake you both had made. You were just hoping that the thread of inevitability, the unseen force that's cross-stitched three years worth of codependence and ease, that connection that's kept you woven together all this time was still firmly in place.

And that's how you got here, right here with your head spinning and the lack of oxygen burning your lungs. He's on top of you pressing you into your couch, the couch that's finally comfortable for the first time in three whole months, and he's apparently been doing some thinking of his own if the way he's eating at your mouth is any indication. You're tearing at his shirt and he's clawing his way into your jeans and you can't think past this overwhelming sense of completion. You've been empty for so long now and he's here and he's kissing you in a way that's so much more than kissing. He's making his promises again and this time they're meant to be kept, you can just feel that. He's kissing you like you're the only thing that matters, like you're his only reason for being alive. He's kissing like this moment right here is saving him, saving you both, and when his hand finally circles you, your teeth sink into his shoulder as tears stream down your face because it's so good to be home again. So good to feel alive.

You know things are going to get complicated pretty soon, so does he. There's going to be explanations and tears and people are going to be outright pissed. The possibility of losing friends, family and even jobs is one that the two of you will be facing, but you don't care anymore. You couldn't give a shit if you tried. You'd lose everything to gain him and you can feel his agreement in the way he's clinging to you. You can't function right without each other and you'll be damned if you try it again just to make everyone else happy. They can go fuck themselves.

You know in your heart that you really got here when you walked into an audition room and laid eyes on the only other person there. It was just the two of you then and you'll be happy for the rest of your life if he's the only other person in it. Because this right here, this moment and all the million more you're gonna have just like it, this is the only thing that matters.