Dean is a retired vet just trying to get through his day to day struggles. But when a secret admirer starts slipping notes under his door, he finds himself caught up in a chase that, in the end, may be exactly what he needs.
Rated K for general audiences.
Love notes are one of those things that people get on television and in movies, not in real life, so Dean was pretty surprised when they started showing up under his shop door.
Initially he’d assumed it was a mistake. Someone who’d been in to pick up or drop off their car had dropped it and he hadn’t noticed it till the morning after. So he hadn’t opened it, instead deciding to leave it on the counter in case someone came looking for it. Sealed up in a red envelope, it’d sat for days, Dean eventually forgetting about it as it got covered with receipts and work orders.
Until another one showed up.
This had piqued his curiosity, Dean finally deciding to open them only to find personal versus addressed directly to him.
Mr. Winchester – Sometimes I try to count all your freckles. I never succeed.
Or so had said the second one. The first had been about his eyes, about how green they were, or some such nonsense. At least, that was what Dean had thought of it at first. He scoffed and remembered something about high school, the whole thing making him rather uncomfortable in an embarrassed kind of way. Mostly because he couldn’t imagine who would want to secretly admire someone like him. He was covered in grease and dirt a majority of the time, running a car garage as he did. What was there to see in that?
Plus, there was the whole veteran status, which left him in a state of perpetual after-work drinking, a habit he wasn’t too entirely proud of, but didn’t know how to kick.
Yet the notes kept coming. Regularly actually. Every Wednesday morning. To the point where Dean actually anticipated it, his stomach tightening in apprehension as he’d consider what those words would have to say and what color they’d be wrapped in. Sometimes it was short and sweet, others were maybe a sentence or two, but they were always pleasant. Always nice things.
Things that made him feel good for a minute or two.
Mr. Winchester – You should smile more often.
Mr. Winchester – Your dedication to your job is admirable.
Mr. Winchester – Sometimes you forget to brush your hair. I don’t mind.
Mr. Winchester – Your walk is aesthetically pleasing.
Mr. Winchester – Everything about you is aesthetically pleasing.
The notes were odd, really, but Dean couldn’t help being flattered. The attention put a soft spot in his day, something to look forward to. Something to push away the nightmares and the loneliness for a little while.
Mr. Winchester – You had a smudge of grease under your eye yesterday. I almost wanted to rub it off myself.
Mr. Winchester – I think about you a lot.
Slowly but surely, Dean found himself wanting to discover the culprit, his mind becoming more and more distracted with it all the time. It was apparently someone he saw regularly, likely a few times a week. Maybe someone at the grocery store. Or the gas station. Or who walked by his shop. He was soon watching everyone, foolishly thinking that if he spotted them, he’d just know. But the faces were less distinctive than he’d anticipated and his search began to only frustrate him.
Yet the notes kept coming.