That was true. Dean was getting better at giving Don Juan the benefit of the doubt, mostly because he knew there was nothing to worry about like he used to. His worries were more deeply rooted into whatever had happened that still hung over them like a cloud and it would take time for it to disappear, so he would worry until then.

Without time to come up with a good excuse, Dean thought a version of the truth would have to do. He sank to the floor next to Don Juan, listening to the water fill the tub for a moment before answering. "I have a friend that likes to fight over in London, been a while, so I went to watch a few rounds." This wasn't quite as dignified as boxing. Dean had started there, years ago, hoping it would be enough, but it wasn't. This was far less predictable, less rules, less stipulations, a little more ruthless and physical; exactly what he needed to feed the frenzied energy enough to get it out of his system.

"I would have come home sooner if you'd asked me to," he meant it. "I don't want you to feel like you can't ask me to do that, because I will." He leaned against Don Juan, pressing another kiss to his shoulder. Dean wasn't out much anymore anyway and he could keep this new hobby to a minimum; only once in a while when he couldn't stand the feelings any longer. The compulsive need to be there for his partners was bigger than his own needs.