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Was that hope in his voice?

Dean shrugged. “I woke up early, I guess. Never sleep very well when I drink too much.”

“You don’t normally drink that much,” Sloane noted.

Dean glanced at him and found he couldn’t read his friend’s expression. It could just be the hangover Sloane was possibly feeling, or more likely, Sloane was just as freaked out by what had happened as Dean. If it was the second case, Dean couldn’t blame him, and he was more surprised Sloane was even bothering to talk to him.

“I guess it got out of hand,” Dean admitted.

Sloane said nothing, chewing his bottom lip as he watched Dean.

Dean was the first to look away, unwilling to endure Sloane's thoughtful but distant expression anymore. How had he gone from years of keeping his secret to blabbing it in the heat of a moment and then pushing himself onto Sloane? How Sloane wasn’t mad, frustrated, or even outright upset was a puzzle to Dean, but he hated the silence stretching between them.

Sloane glanced in the kitchen. “I think your coffee is ready.”

“Not going to have any?” Dean asked.

Sloane shook his head. “Just getting a bottle of water and going back to bed.”

Which required him to get dressed first, of course. Dean closed his eyes, shaking his head as he tried to ignore his heart pounding. If he let himself think too much about what happened and what was going on, he would lose his mind. They had been so close to getting things back to normal, and then he’d thrown it all away in a moment of drunken impulsivity.

Sloane looked him over, a frown creasing his brow. “Dean.”

Dean shook his head, giving a laugh he didn’t feel. “I think I’m going to head out and get things set up. Weekends are always the busiest.”

Sloane hesitated and then nodded. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”

Dean almost laughed again, knowing Sloane had to be relieved to see Dean go. He did, however, force a smile as he gathered the bottles and the glasses to clean up before he left. Sloane shuffled out of his way as Dean hurried into the kitchen. With that done, he grabbed the travel mug he always left at Sloane’s and filled it with coffee.

“Text me later?” Dean asked brightly as he yanked on his boots.

Sloane nodded as he retreated to his bedroom, the bottle of water in hand. “Yeah, don’t forget to eat.”

The casual, friendly reminder should have made him feel better, but instead, Dean took it like a stab to the gut. It had sounded so perfunctory, a product of habit, and Sloane still hadn’t looked at him.

Maybe he would volunteer for a double shift.

The smellof something spicy and rich brought his head up. Sniffing at the air, Dean turned in his chair to find Troy standing in the doorway. The man was smirking, holding a plastic bag as he waited.

Dean eyed it. “What’s that?”

Troy wiggled it. “For you, if you’re good.”

Dean’s stomach rumbled, but he eyed his friend warily. “Define good.”

“You eat it and stop being so weird.”

Dean frowned. “I’m not being weird.”

Troy raised a thin brow. “Right, because normally, when you’re hungover, you’re a grumpy shit. But you’ve been hungover the whole shift and haven’t growled at me once.”

“You...want me to be grumpy?”

“I want you to stop acting weird.”

Dean looked at the bag again. “Is that curry?”

“Might be.”