Dean is slumped in one of the easy chairs in his room, seemingly completely oblivious to the camera he's left on the bedside table. It's at enough of an angle that half his face is obscured by the shadows in the dimly-lit room, and the only sources of illumination are the floor lamp off in the far corner, and the soft electric glow of the radio's
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And the Journey, really? It's a decent enough band but I'm beginning to wonder if this band ain't just the magical key to men that I've somehow been missin' all this time.
[Sigh.]
Anyway, what's got your goat? You need to talk any?
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Dean chuckles a little.]
If I coulda changed the channel, I would've. [He shifts a little in his chair, turning to look at the communicator and furrowing his brow a little.]
Who else's been mopey?
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[And now she's going to ask his name before she forgets or gets brushed off.] I'm Shannon Beiste. What's your name?
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[Guy around his age, huh? Staring dejectedly at his empty bottle for a moment, his expression of slight contentment faltering, Dean addresses her again.]
...Was he dressed like some kinda tax accountant?
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Was it not?
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Yeah, so? What's that got to do with anything?
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[Perhaps he shouldn't be so harsh on Dean when he's so clearly upset, but 1) Kurt's pretty sure he knows at least some of why Dean is upset, and 2) Journey. ...Secretly it has Kurt nostalgic for Mr. Schuester's Glee Club, but Dean doesn't get to know that. Instead, he gets tough love.]
So, why are you attempting to give yourself alcohol poisoning this time, Dean?
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You'll have to excuse me, Princess, for not being able to change the channel on the damn magic radio.
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...I'm sorry. I'm...I'm just a little...confused...right now, is all.
[Dean sounds somewhat broken.]
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What's wrong? Or is sitting in near-dark in some sort of morose stupor just something you do?
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...You ever like someone you know you're not s'pposed to? And I don't mean platonically.
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...Maybe?
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So, uh...hypothetically-speaking...say there's somebody you didn't think you'd like, for a whole mess of reasons, but then you ended up pushin' to second base with 'em before freaking out and running the Hell away. And...this person didn't seem opposed to it at the time, but now you're not talking with them and you're worried you fucked things up.
...what do you do?
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Dean? You there?
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...Sam? Yeah, Sammy, 'm here. What's up?
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[[ooc: Sorry I haven't been on the past day. Being sick sucks.]]
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[He groans, pressing the heel of his hand against his temple.] Could be better, though. [Dean shifts a little, narrowing his eyes at the screen. He can already feel Sam's worry, and he doesn't like it.]
...I'm fine, Sam.
[[ooc; Don't apologiiiiize. Feel better! <3]]
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