"Yeah, well, I wait for almost three hours after when you usually show up." So Don Juan was allowed to be late, but he wasn't allowed to give up early? That seemed wildly unfair. Dean was tired of being the flexible one all of the time, of being the only one who seemed to care that an agreement had weight to it, on both sides, even if it always felt lopsided.

He scoffed at the excuse. Always some excuse. Sometimes no excuse at all and he was still supposed to excuse the behavior, to ignore it and hope it went differently next time. Fuck that. "Sure, campaign shit." The same campaign that Don Juan complained about all of the time, that had him showing up to start an argument when he didn't get the sympathy he wanted and then left again moments later. He was acting like a petulant child and then expected to be treated like an adult and it set Dean's teeth on edge.

The ritual of starting to shed his clothes as soon as he came home had started, jacket tossed on the nearby chair, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt, gradually loosening the layers as he tried to ignore the clawing feeling in his chest. "I declined plans to stay in, but didn't see the point in waiting around by myself." He'd waited for a reasonable amount of time, he had, whether Dempsey wanted to see that or not.