At first, he'd just ignored it. But a week later, phone calls from the same number were coming through at least once a day, to the point he simply put the device on silent and left it in a drawer. Maybe if he ignored it, they'd get the hint that he wasn't interested in whatever they wanted to say, and the incessant calls would end.

In the meantime, he switched to his business phone. Then business picked up, and he was inundated with work, and eventually… he just forgot about the phone in the drawer, ringing to itself every day like clockwork. Picking up messages and storing them, ready for the day they'd finally be heard.

It wasn't until that phone broke and he was in desperate need for a stand-in that he remembered of its existence. So he rummaged around the house in search of the matching charger and left it overnight.

When he returned the next morning to turn it on, he definitely wasn't expecting the influx of voicemails that greeted him. Two, three, five, sixteen, twenty, twenty-five… he left the device in a slight state of confusion, and when he returned with his coffee he was startled by the number waiting for him.

50 new voicemails.

That was three days ago. The first few messages caused his chest to tighten uncomfortably, and he almost felt guilty, even though he shouldn't. He knew that he wasn't the one who feel guilty. This wasn't his fault. But regardless, the sound of Dean's sobs and apologies and pleas felt like a heavy weight dropping into the pit of his stomach. He could easily stop listening. He could delete them all and move on with his life, but there was a voice at the back of his mind telling him he couldn't ignore this. Dean left these messages out of desperation and he at least deserves to have his feelings heard.

He's now a couple months in to the timeline of the calls, and while the knowledge that Dean spent so long simply calling, and waiting for a response that would never come pains him slightly, he's thankful that the drunken, late-night ones have at least stopped.

"Hey it's, uh. Me again. Dean. Shit this is so stupid isn't it? Just ringing like this, leaving you messages even though I know you'll never call me back. Cesaro says I should keep doing it, and I do, but I don't know why because there's nothing I can do to fix this. I know there's nothing I can do to fix this. But I'm desperate and I miss talking to you, so… here I am. Stupid right? God… when he first told me to call you, told me to tell you how I feel and all that crap, I could just hear you laughing at it. At the thought of me leaving you a million voicemails like some lovesick teenager or something…

I miss your laugh. Does that sound too cheesy? Probably. Jesus. I don't even know what to say. Nothing I say will make any of this better, I know that. I just want you to come home. Even if we can't be together, I just want to see you. I wanna see everything that I've been missing. Your stupid hair, your stupid smile, your stupid face. Everything. Fuck… I wish I'd told you how much I love you before you left, but there it is. Yeah. I'm fucking head over heels for you. I have been since you threw your coffee all down my shirt and looked so horrified and honest and adorable I couldn't even bring myself to cuss you out. I probably always will be head over heels for you... I'm pretty sure you're it for me. Like. The big One. Nobody will ever come close to you.

Shit, alright. Uh, I think I'm done embarrassing myself. So… bye, I guess? I miss you, I love you... I just… I just wish you'd come back, man."

The messages always end with a couple seconds of silence, as if Dean is waiting for a response, before another huffed laugh and the click at the end. A part of him is desperate to reach out to the other man, to just throw caution to the wind and call him. But each time he finds himself staring at the screen, finger hovering over the button that his heart keeps urging him to tap, until panic swells within him and causes him to retreat for another day.

"Hey. So, Paige's gotten herself a girlfriend. Summer, I think she's called. Blonde, tan… definitely not the kind of girl I thought she'd go after. But I guess she probably thought that when you first introduced me to her. It's kinda funny really, how much they remind me of us. When we first got together everyone kept asking how we put up with each other when we're so different – it wasn't really a secret that you were the gym freak, looking like the Adonis that you are, while I was the one who'd rather go to the bar. I've still got that bike, y'know, and I still ride it. So ha! I told you I would, didn't I?"

He listens as Dean sighs absently, as if his mind is casting back. There's only the sound of hesitant breaths for a moment or two, before he continues on, "I keep thinking that I should be mad with you, should hate you for leaving me when you promised you wouldn't… but I can't. I love you. It's been months and I'm losing my damn mind without you here. Just come back. Fuck, you could come have a free pass to kick me in the nuts every night for the rest of my life and I wouldn't even care. I just want to see you again, hear your voice again… fuck. Alright, I'd better go now, my shift starts in a couple hours.

The bed's still cold without you, you dick."

He knows he has other things to do, more important things to do, but after working and taking care of his dog, listening to Dean's messages now takes priority over many other tasks. As he moves onto the next message, he notes it was left just before Christmas.

"It's fucking cold, man. Like, nut-freezingly cold. There's two days till Christmas, though, and I finally unpacked my last box this morning. Cesaro's great and all, but there's nothing like your own home. It's a bit empty though, definitely room for another person. I even bought one of those beds where the TV slides up at the bottom. Memory foam too. I know you always said you wanted one of those.

I kinda wish I'd grown a set and asked you to move in with me before you left. Or if we could find our own place. I know neither of us could really move because of our jobs, but this one's dead in the middle. An hour from your place, an hour from my old one. It's perfect, really.

I think I'm getting better at this whole voicemail thing, don't you think? Easier than texting. I still don't know how to work that damn keyboard. I think Paige's coming over Christmas Day, with Summer. She said she'll give me a master class, so I'll let you know how that goes. Cesaro's coming too, I think he might actually finally introduce us to this guy he's been seeing. Would be cool if you could come. Make an appearance. I know it's stupid to ask, but hey, a guy can try, right? If you ever want to come visit, though, I'd be cool with that. Really. Promise I won't freak out on you. Just wanna see you again.

I still love you, never forget that."

As he exits and moves to the next message, he notes that there's only five left, and a small part of him aches as the fact sinks in. Their one-sided conversation has become enjoyable, even if hearing Dean's desperation and misery has tugged at his heart.

In a pathetic attempt to prolong the inevitable, he sets the phone down heads upstairs to his bedroom where he finds his dog sleeping soundly on the bed. His bed, not the quite expensive dog bed he had bought in the hope that maybe he'd be able to claim the mattress back for himself. He considers moving the only other occupier of the house, but only for a fleeting second before he's pulling back the covers on the other side and settling down under them.

The next day, he listens to the final message. He's listened to all 50 of the voicemails, and he feels that familiar ache begin to set deep within his chest once again as questions begin to circle his mind. How is Dean now? Is he happy? Has he met someone new? Is that why he stopped leaving messages, or did he just get tired of waiting? Or, maybe he didn't decide to stop leaving them… maybe he's- no. No, he won't even consider that. Can't bear to consider that.

He knows there's only one thing that will settle this ache and answer the questions – he needs to call Dean. And so he does, impulsively, not giving himself enough time to overthink things and back out again. The message he leaves isn't long, he simply explains that he's listened to the messages and encourages Dean to call, if he wants, so he can explain everything further… so he can see the other man.

A week later, Dean calls. His heart is hammering in his chest as he listens to the rasp on the other end. The hammering doesn't stop during the next call, or the one after that, or every phone call after. Before long, he finds himself wondering what his hair is like, what he's wearing. Is he smiling? Or does the mention of the messages conjure up old emotions that he'd supressed for so long?

Before long, their weekly conversations turn into daily ones that last for hours, sometimes even into the early hours of the morning, and they'll both joke that they ought to be sleeping but neither of them hang up. After a few weeks, he asks if they could meet up sometime. He desperately tries to push away the feeling of disappointment when Dean releases an unsteady breath and murmurs "maybe soon, in a couple weeks, just not yet, I'm not ready yet", but fails, and his stomach sinks.

The feeling only lifts a couple days afterwards, when Dean phones texts him with an address, date and time. There's nothing else, so he simply assumes Dean wants to meet him there. There's a couple days for him to prepare - 'What exactly are you preparing for?' he often asks himself, but can't ever answer. Prepare for any feelings that might drown him once the man who has been all he can think about for the past few weeks is finally within reach? Prepare for the moment Dean tells him he's found someone new, that he's happy? He'll definitely have to be prepared to squash any kind feelings, because this is just a meet-up. Nothing more than a coffee. Their phone calls have built a bridge, a foundation even. But they're not solid yet, not enough to build any kind of relationship on, at least. He's not sure he could handle another rushed and rocky relationship. He wants to do it right this time.

Hands buried deep within the confines of his pockets, he quickly crosses the road and steps into the cafe he's supposed to meet Dean in. He glances around uncertainly. He wishes he'd asked for a recent photo or even just a description- so he knows who he's looking for. Dean could have anything from long, cotton-candy coloured hair to short, black spikes, and he wouldn't even know-

"Hey Dean," he hears a woman say. A familiar voice greets her back. He whips his head around and eventually his eyes settle on a blonde mop of unruly hair. The woman smiles down at Dean, "you meeting someone?"

"Yeah. Meeting a friend-" a friend, his heart catches in his throat and he immediately feels stupid. He shouldn't be so happy about Dean calling him a friend. What is he, five? But it's something, it's more than just a guy. He knows he ought to quell the hope stirring inside him, but he finds it almost overpowering, "-he should be here any minute now."

The woman makes a considering noise and glances towards the door, warm eyes locking with his own. She smiles, "are you by any chance Dean's friend?"

At that, Dean twists his body to look at him. Blue eyes widen as they lock onto him, and he can't help but feel a little relieved because he's certain he looks just as love-struck, or whatever the word is. In all honesty he feels like his brain has completely short-circuited. Thankfully, his feet begin to move on autopilot and carry him to the table, and his brain just about manages to sit him down in the seat opposite Dean after offering the woman a smile.

"Hey. You OK?"

Dean nods, a slight smile gracing parted lips that he has to drag his eyes away from. The woman, whose nametag reads 'Summer' – Summer, who's dating Paige, he recalls from the messages –is watching them with fond eyes, "I'm not going to pry into what this is. I just want to warn you," she turns to him, ignoring the way Dean rolls his eyes at her behind her back, "if you hurt him, in any way, I won't be afraid to-"

"Alright mother, go get us two menus and some of those donuts I like wouldja?" Summer rolls her eyes but walks away, leaving Dean to give him a sheepish look, "sorry about her. I probably should'a told her about you before, but I didn't want her hovering even more. I'm sure you heard about her somewhere in the messages anyway so probably know what she's like."

"Yeah," he laughs, "you mentioned her. She seems nice, nice that she looks out for you. But speaking of the messages, I was wondering if you, uh. Wanted to talk. About, y'know…"

Dean shakes his head, voice dropping to a more sombre level, "not really. I- I don't really want to remember that time. Just wanna move on from it all if I'm honest, Roman."

"You and him work it all out then?" He can feel the disappointment begin to pool in his stomach as he asks the question, knowing he's gotten his hopes up for nothing. Which is stupid, because he doesn't even know Dean all that well. And Dean knows Roman even less. He just hopes that Seth guy never leaves Dean so lost and miserable again.

Dean laughs bitterly, "not really. He's dead. He was dead when I was leaving the messages for him. Or, well, leaving them for you, but they were for him. It was all for him."

And if that doesn't make him feel like a terrible person, he isn't sure what would. Way to go Roman, "oh god. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No. S'ok. You didn't know," he watches as Dean brings his hand up to rub against his collarbone roughly, "The messages were kinda like therapy for me so I just kept leaving them. Talking to him like nothing had happened. Gave his phone to the guys at his work, didn't know what else to do with it. Didn't think about what'd happen when they actually gave his phone away. Guess I still had it in my head that it'd always be his, y'know? Especially when I still got his voice when I hit voicemail."

"Yeah, I never even thought about the fact it'd been… someone else's. It's why I got so frustrated when you were calling every day. And it was a shock to find so many when I turned it on again. Glad you didn't decide to write letters though, or I wouldn't have ever gotten them. My dog's constantly eating the mail, anyone would think I don't feed her."

Dean's eyes light up at that, "you have a dog?"

Roman nods, unable to stop himself from smiling at the excitement as it floods Dean's face, "yeah, a chihuahua. She was mine and my ex's, but his new boyfriend didn't like dogs so I kept her."

"Seth had a terrier. Kevin. We didn't get on at first, but. He's kinda my best friend now. Almost as if there's a part of Seth still with me." Dean smiles sadly. Roman finds himself aching slightly to take the man in front of him into his arms, to comfort him. It's strange, terrifying really. Between the messages and then their regular phonecalls, Roman's grown quite attached to Dean. He can't remember the last time he felt such a connection with someone, let alone so quickly.

"You'll have to bring him over one day. Introduce them. See if they hit it off. She's too much energy for me sometimes, think she could do with a friend to play with."

There's a cheeky smile growing as Dean says, "you don't have to use the dogs as bait, y'know. If you wanna see if we hit it off, you could always just ask me out for a drink like a normal person."

"I- I just wasn't sure if-"

"Roman, it's been months… and I'm only 29. I'm not gonna stop myself from ever moving on with someone else. I mean, I know it'll be hard, sure, but… he'd want me to be happy. He'd come back from wherever he is just to kick me in the nuts and bitch at me if I didn't even try to move on. C'mon. I wanna. I like you. I've really liked talking to you over the past couple weeks, and you're fucking hot man. C'mon."

"Sure you wanna do this?" Roman questions again as the cab slows to a stop, "we can turn round and go back to the party. He'd understand."

"No. No, wanna do this. Need to do this. C'mon." Gravel crunching underfoot, Roman allows Dean to take his hand and lead him along the path. There's a slight tremble in Dean's hand that makes him lace their fingers together and give a reassuring squeeze. This is the first time they've been here, first time Dean's been here, since they started dating just over a year and three months ago.

It's not long until they arrive, stopping beside the stone. He casts a glance at Dean, noting the way his bottom lip is trapped between his teeth, the way his eyes have gone glassy. They both stand awkwardly for a heartbeat. Two. Three. Until Roman takes a deep breath, trusting his instincts that are telling him that Dean's waiting for him to make the first move here.

"Hi Seth. We haven't, uh, officially met. I'm Roman. Dean's- Dean's fiancé. We actually snuck away from our own engagement party to come see you. Summer's gonna freak when she finds out."

That at least draws a laugh from Dean, who crouches down, dragging his fingertips over the gold lettering, "hey babe- I, uh, I mean," Roman crouches down as well, nodding his head and offering an understanding smile, "s'pose it's weird, this. Coming to see you. But. I just- just wanted you to meet Ro. You would've liked him. Could've exchanged hair maintenance tips or whatever."

"Don't mock our hair. Just cos you're losing yours."

"Hey, fuck you! Can you believe him, Seth? God. Y'see what I'm marrying? Gonna have to put up with these jokes for the rest of my life."

"You're the one who said yes."

"That's beside the point, darling. The point is," Dean pulls two cans of beer from the bag he'd mysteriously insisted they bring. He hands one to Roman, and cracks open the other, taking a sip before tipping it over the soil, (Roman bites back any comments about whether or not you should really be pouring alcohol into it, it's not like Dean would listen to him anyway), "I- no, we wanted to come. To celebrate with you. I still love you, but I love Ro just as much, and. God, for so long I was so sure I'd never find anyone who understands me again. But I have. I know you'd want me to be happy, and I want you to know that I am. I'm so happy Seth. And I gotta thank you for that. I still can't understand why they kept your card in that phone, but I like to think you played a part in this. Made sure Rome was the one who got it. You always were a sneaky little shit. So. Yeah. Cheers, Seth. For making me happy then, for giving me a second chance at happiness now… for everything. I'll never forget you, never stop loving you."

Roman hefts his can up with Dean, knocking them together. He doesn't allow himself to cast a glance at his phone to check the time. He knows Dean needs this, and for his boy, he'd sit here all night. He doesn't know how long they're sat on the grass, talking aimlessly and exchanging stories until the bag is empty. It's only once he's disposed of the empty cans and they've both risen to their feet, ready to catch a cab home, that Dean's smile drops, replaced with that look of pain and anguish once more. With a sigh, Roman wraps his arms around him, pressing a kiss into blonde curls, before turning back to the headstone, "I'll look after him, Seth. I promise."