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Every chapter I will shout out someone, as a thank you for reading! If you want to be the next shout out, you just have to VOTE and leave a COMMENT (anything you want to).

This week's shout out: phanshion ! Thank you for supporting TOH, I hope it keeps living up to your expectations!

This part follows right after the previous one, so I advise you to re-read part 1 :)

Q&A + IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT IN THE POST! (please read the announcement even if you don't care about the questions)

Dean's feet stopped at the end of the stairs. He couldn't see Blake from where he stood, but he could hear the TV so he should still be in there. Dean had extended his shower as much as possible, but he still didn't know what to say to Blake. He wasn't even sure what had happened.

With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall, looking up at the stained-glass dome. The sky outside darkened by the minute, erasing the warmth of the sunset. He should get started with dinner.

His slippers shuffled on the floor as he crossed to the kitchen, where he began gathering the ingredients he would be needing. From one of the bottom doors, he scavenged for the right pot, filling it with water before laying it on the stove. The sound of steps entering the kitchen made his finger falter, followed by a bench dragging on the floor. It was a good sign that Blake had come to him, but that didn't lessen his apprehension as he finished choosing the stove settings. In spite of the initial hesitation, neither of them wanted to drag-out that weird tension so Dean did his best to silence the pessimist murmuring that hovered over him and turned around.

Blake sat on the opposite side of the kitchen island, head propped on his hand. Their eyes met and a small smile curved Blake's lips. - Whatcha doin'?

Dean smiled as well, reaching for the salt. - Dinner.

- Thank you, I would never have guessed.

His smile stretched as he turned to the stove to add some salt to the pot.

- I'm making Fettuccine Alfredo.

The bench scrapped the floor again and, in seconds, Blake was peering over his shoulder to the saucepan he laid on the stove. - Can I help? - Blake's voice brushing against his skin had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and his mouth going dry. Blake was close, yet not enough to touch him, which he was thankful for. There was no way Dean could look at him without combusting, so he just focused on doing his best to keep his nerves from showing.

- You want to help?

- That's what I said.

- Hm, I don't know. - he feigned an unsure tone as he stepped aside to the fridge to grab the heavy cream he had prepared ahead of time. - It's rude to have a guest working.

Blake's smile straight-lined to his chest, but Dean kept his composure even as Blake neared him, slipping the glass jar from his hand. The way just a small thing had his heart beating against his ribcage was unfair.

Blake kept his gaze on him and a smile on his lips, stepping backwards at a slow pace. - What if it's your best friend?

Dean was aware he was smiling like a fool, but he still did his best to pretend he had to think about it for a beat before speaking. - I guess that could be an exception. - he tried to suppress his ridiculous grin, squinting while pointing at Blake. - But if you try to steal food before we're done, you're out.

- I can't promise it won't happen. - Blake put down the jar and turned to the stove with his hands on his hips. - Now teach me, oh honourable master.

- I already regret my decision.

- Tough luck, bunny.

Cooking with Blake proved even more fun than what Dean had expect which was already a lot. It also proved a lot more messy and a lot harder to clean powdered cheese from the floor while bent over in laughter. Regardless of some small hiccups like those, the Fettuccine Alfredo didn't take long to be ready. After eating their dinner and cleaning the kitchen, they had moved to the living room's sofa where Blake was now browsing the TV for something for them to watch while Dean walked in with a plate in his hands, laying it on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

- What kind of stuff do you want to watch?

- I don't have a preference.

Blake's eyes left the TV, clocking the contents of the plate. - That looks amazing. - he reached forward, picking one of the small pastries. - What is it?

- Raspberry cheesecake bites.

Dean sat beside Blake, watching him bite into. A gradual smile formed in his lips as he watched Blake's expression change as he chewed the dessert.

- This is great. - he said, his lips already grazing the dessert to take a second bite. - How the hell do you come up with this things?

- There's this thing called the internet.

His provocation had Blake pretending to glare at him. - Funny. - he said, grabbing the remote from the couch to keep scrolling the movie's on the TV.

Dean picked a mini cheese-cake for himself and leaned back on the sofa, watching the options on screen. It didn't take long for Blake to stop on a dark thumbnail.

His eyes locked onto the image and his stomach rolled. The image had multiple polaroid pictures of smiling children scattered on a table with one of them being held by a hand covered in a black glove. The black wool of the thumb slightly covered the photo of the young boy in the picture, who smiled at the camera, eyes glimmering in complete unawareness.

- Cool, true crime.

The interest in Blake's voice stung his skin, snapping him out of his clouded daze. He darted his gaze away from the TV and took one hand to the sofa, kneading his fingers in the soft material. He tried to focus on the feeling on the material under his hand and keep his voice as relaxed as possible when he spoke.

- I'm not really a fan. - he said and, immediately, the image on the screen change to the next on the list.

Dean glanced at Blake to see if he had caught on onto the tension in him, but if that had been the case, Blake didn't give anything away, slouching as he stuffed another cheese-cake bite in his mouth. Feeling the tension slowly leave his body, a corner of his lips perked.

- You like it? - he asked. - True crime, I mean.

- Yeah, I do. I think it's fascinating. - he looked at the confusion in Dean's face and smiled. - Not the people suffering part, calm down. It's the criminal that amazes me. Sometimes you can almost understand their circumstances but most times it's just a peek at a twisted mind.

- Are you considering pursuing criminal psychology?

Blake pressed his lips together with a soft hum.

- I'm not sure exactly what I want to do. - he picked the last two mini-cheese-cakes, offering one to Dean. - But I'm not that worried about specifics yet, I still have two years to go before I even get my degree.

- Oh right, yours is four-years in total.

- Yeah. - Blake smiled at him, cleaning his hands on his pants before grabbing the remote. -University it's going to be weird once you graduate.

That idea alone left a sour taste in Dean's mouth. He tried to relax on his seat and focus on the screen.

- We both want master's degrees, - Dean added. - it's not as if I'm leaving after next year.

He instantly regretted what he said. The looming threat of his move materialized in the room with them and Blake visibly tensed, his posture growing straighter. Dean waited, expectant to see if Blake would comment on it.

They hadn't really talked about the possibility that his grandfather would decide he was to move to the U.S. after that night at Mark's house, and even at that time there hadn't been that much of a conversation about it. They had just moved on from the subject and continued as if it wasn't even a real option.

As he watched, Blake returned his back to the sofa. - This looks cool. - he said, pointing at the TV with his chin. - Can it be this one?

Dean was caught off guard by the abrupt shift in subject, but still glanced at the screen and hummed in agreement although he wasn't even sure what the movie was about.

Blake would sometimes change subject for his sake but this time it felt different, as if he didn't want to even accept that it might happen. That reaction had Dean's anxiety for the situation double because Blake had never been one to avoid an issue, usually preferring to focus on realistic solutions. The fact that he didn't want to talk about it could only mean he was scared that that particular problem had no fixing.

His chest contracted at the thought of leaving everything behind, but especially Blake. Sure, he was completely lost on what to do as far as that thing between them was concerned, but imagining having to leave Blake was just torturous. Would they even be able to keep up their friendship if he moved or would that be it? Sure, they would try but Blake would have his own life to attend to and Dean would probably be learning the family's trait while getting his studies done.

His stomach twisted at that thought as well. He wanted to take the role of CEO at some point but when he imagined that reality he would always skip to the end, once everything was said and done and he was the man he had always dreamt of being. He always ignored what would have to happen to get there. He would have to work with people he didn't know, people would come up to him and discuss work and Dean would have to stand his ground and solve problems without hesitation. He would have to do meetings and conferences and interviews. His family weren't celebrities per se, but they were powerful and with that came along a level of recognition that he would have to deal with at some point.

Most people in his family's circle didn't even remember him at that point and he liked that, but there would be a time in the future when people would come up to him and talk, ask questions and surround him and want to shake his hand and, God, the idea alone made him want to throw up-

Out of nowhere the touch materialized on the back of his hand. His heart jumped to his throat and, in brisk movement, he pulled away, eyes wide in that direction. Blake looked as startled as him with his reaction, hand back next to his body as if he had gotten burnt.

- I was asking you if you were okay. - Blake said, uncertain. - You didn't respond.

- Oh, I... - his eyes fleeted to the screen to the paused movie - ...was distracted. I'm sorry.

Blake stayed silent for a few seconds, but the movie didn't resume either, so Dean had no other option but to look back at him. Blake was still looking at him, but now his expression was much more serious. Dean tensed under those dark eyes.

- I'm alright. - he tried, but Blake didn't step back.

With a set jaw and strong eyes, he locked Dean in place. - Has this anything to do with what I told you at the hotel?

His eyes widened, gaping at Blake.

What?

- What? - he said.

- You have been acting weird for a while. - Blake's voice carried tension as he spoke. - Every time we're together, it feels like you're on the edge.

Dean's heart sank. Blake had noticed. He had noticed and, worse, he was hurt.

Seconds went by and neither of them spoke, but Blake kept his eyes on him, waiting. Dean's mind was racing, trying to come up with something to say. He could make Blake feel better if he just came clean, but would it really be the best? They were best friends and they had feelings for each other, yes, but it wasn't that simple. It was never that simple for him. How could he drag Blake down with him?

Unable to hold Blake's intense stare, his eyes fell to his lap, focusing on his fingers. He heard an exasperated sigh and felt the sofa move as Blake shifted on his seat.

- I shouldn't have told you. - Dean glanced at him to see Blake rub his face with both hands and then running them through his black hair. - I knew you would be uncomfortable, just like I knew you don't want to be seen without clothes and still checked you out like a jerk. - he let his hands fall from his hair and when he looked at Dean again, his eyes looked tired, defeated. - I'm sorry.

- Don't. - Dean blurted out, turning to face him. He didn't know what he planned to say, all he knew was that he didn't want Blake to feel guilty because of his insecurities. - You did nothing wrong.

- You can't tell me things haven't been different since I told you, Dean.

Dean's mouth snapped closed. Blake was right and denying it would be ridiculous at that point.

- I know. - he mumbled. - It's just...

I'm scared.

- I've a lot on my mind lately.

Blake's eyes left his at the generic excuse, nodding. - I get it.

But he didn't. He couldn't because Dean himself didn't get it himself. However, if there was one thing he was certain of was that he didn't want Blake to be hurting, especially not because of him.

Without giving himself time to overthink it, he scooted closer on the couch. Blake's eyes returned to his and Dean's heart skipped a bit, but he did his best to ignore it as he extended a hand, covering Blake's.

- You did nothing wrong. I promise. - he tried his best to imbed his voice as much confidence as he could.

A corner of Blake's lips lifted in a faint smile that didn't reach his eyes, yet his thumb still caressed the back of Dean's hand.

- Thank you.

The fondness in his voice weighted on Dean's chest. He wanted to erase the sadness in Blake's eyes, to make him feel better and bring back that smile that always made his pulse race.

An idea popped into his head and his eyes darted to the exit.

- Give me a second. - he said.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he let go of Blake's hand and got up, darting out of the living room. He rushed up the stairs, his heart hammering against his chest.

Once in his room, he turned on the lights, zeroing in on his desk.

Blake might not like it.

He approached it, crouching down to level with the last drawer.

He might think it's weird.

He reached for the handle with a firm grip.

You might get hurt.

Pulling on it, he forced it open.

And there it was, standing beside a colourful ice-cream wrapper, a miniature red motorcycle, waiting for its chance. He picked it up carefully, checking for any scratched he might have missed. Should he put it in a box or wrap it first? It was a present after all, as unprompted as it was.

No, Blake was waiting for him and he couldn't give himself enough time to overthink. It was now or never and never just wasn't an option.

When he returned to the living room, hands behind his back, the movie was still on pause and Blake still on the sofa, rotating the empty plate from the dessert in his hands. Dean filled his chest with air and stepped forward. Blake turned around as soon as he felt his presence and it didn't take long for his eyes to lock onto Dean's hidden hands, fleeting then back to Dean's face with his eyebrows arched in curiosity.

Dean did his best to hide his nervousness behind a smile.

- I have something for you.

Blake cocked his head and the genuine smile that formed on his lips had Dean's raging heart go into overdrive.

Dean swallowed in dry, and slowly brought his hands to the front, revealing the model for the first time to the person it had been intended for since the beginning.

As soon as Blake's eyes fell on the miniature his brows met in a confused frown, but it didn't take long for his eyes to widen as recognition filled his face. His head shot back to gape at Dean.

- Are you serious? - he didn't wait for a response, reaching for the model, staring at it as if it was only a matter of time until he realized it wasn't what he thought. The care with which he handled the motorcycle soothed the nervous twist in Dean's stomach. - How?

Dean pressed his lips in a small smile, bringing his hand to scratch the back of his neck.

- I ordered the pieces from the internet and then painted them and assembled it. - he explained. - It was harder to find someone that would do the custom pieces than I thought it would be.

An open smile began growing on Blake's lips, eyes lifting up at Dean. - Can I hug you?

Without hesitation, Dean agreed, letting his arm fall back to his side. Blake's smile was blinding as he placed the model on the couch and jumped to his feet, wrapping his arms around Dean, which he reciprocated. Could Blake feel his heart jumping on his chest?

They didn't hug for long before Blake pulled back to look at his face, still smiling, dark eyes gleaming in affection.

- I love it.

Dean smiled.

- Really?

- Are you kidding? - he stepped back, reaching for the model. - This is awso- - Blake couldn't finish as the momentum of him sitting shifted the model just enough for it to fall off. Both scrambled to catch it but neither reached in time and the miniature crashed to the floor, the seat piece breaking off and bouncing a few more times.

- Shit, shit, shit, shit... - Blake's knees met the ground, picking the model and the seat, looking at them with a distort expression as if begging them to get back together on their own.

He slowly got up, lifting his eyes to Dean. - I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't think before sitting and... - he gestured at the couch, only for the seat to slip from his fingers, back to the floor. - Fuck!

Blake looked like he was about to punch himself so, before that could happen, Dean took both the model and the piece from him. With a quick look, Dean's smile returned.

- Don't worry, it's not ruined. Some parts are screwed together, see? - he pointed at a minuscule screw on the side and then to the seat. - This part is just glued. I can easily fix it.

Blake's shoulders lowered in relieve. - You can?

With a nod, Dean returned him the model and its part.

- I'll grab my stuff and I'll be right back.

As promised, not five minutes later both of them sat on the carpet, around the coffee table that had more than enough space for Dean to work on while Blake laid his chin over his crossed forearms, watching. Blake's eyes followed intently as Dean drizzled glue onto the underside of the piece, carefully setting it on its spot.

- How is it? - Blake asked.

Dean smiled, holding the piece in place as it dried.

- It will live.

He waited a few seconds, then pulling lightly on the piece to test it. Satisfied, he grabbed a buffing tissue from the pack he had brought along, with Blake's attention still on what he was doing as if it was the most interesting thing ever.

- You're really good at that.

Dean pressed his lips in a smile. - It's just a small fix and cleaning. - he said as he began polishing the body of the