Sometimes, life just won. Sometimes you were miserable. Sometimes you were tired and cranky and snappy. Sometimes you were on your period. Sometimes the only place you wanted to be was on the couch, cocooned in a blanket, with crappy reality TV show reruns on.

Sometimes those things happened all at the same time.

Like right now.

And that's why you were on the couch, wrapped within a giant quilt, a pile of Reese's and Snickers bars on the coffee table, and a rerun of Flavor of Love (first season) on the TV. It was trashy, stupid, and hilarious; just what your mood could handle and needed.

You heard the front door open, signaling the return of your housemate, and boyfriend, Dean. The two of you had seen each other briefly that morning, with you saying very little, before he left to work out. He'd been gone for well over two hours now, which wasn't surprising. He tended to meander out in to the Las Vegas desert and go for runs in the nothingness.

"Where you at, gorgeous?"

"Living room!"

You listened as Dean did something in another part of the house; probably taking off his shoes and throwing down his book bag. Within a couple moments, he was in the room with you.

"Hey. I'm gonna go shower."

"…cool." Dean quirked an eyebrow at your response, but didn't say more. He left you and headed upstairs. After a bit, you could hear the water going through the pipes, indicating he had done as he said he would. You continued to watch your show, drifting back in to your miserable mindset. It was inevitable.

Sometime later, Dean made his way back downstairs, dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, hair wet and ruffled. You didn't even spare him a glance when he came back in the room.

"What's up with you?" You didn't answer him right away. You knew he meant no harm by his question; it was his usual way of asking about your behavior. But with the mood you were in, you couldn't help but take it ruder than intended.

"Do you really need all that candy? You gonna let me have some?" he followed up with more questions, eyeing the pile on the table.

"Dean, I swear to god, I will hurt you," you practically growled at your pestering boyfriend, your eyes on the TV.

"I'm just sayin', sharing is caring, baby," he replied.

"Touch my stash and you'll lose your hand," you more promised than threatened, cutting your gaze to him.

"Sheesh woman. Seriously, what's up with you?"

"I'm tired, I'm bleeding from my vagina, and I just feel like shit overall," you listed.

"Didn't need the detail," he muttered, plopping down heavily beside where you sat.

"Hey Dean." You waited until he was looking at you. "There is blood and junk coming out of my body right now. I'm pissed about it."

"Stop," he demanded. "You're ruining the happy vibes of our house. Our very, very, very fine house."

"Oh yea Crosby, Stills, and Nash?"

"Don't forget sometimes Young!" You couldn't help but giggle, despite how much you didn't want to, and watched as an impish grin came to Dean's face. "Seriously, anything I can do?"

"Not really," you answered, feeling some of the negativity surrounding you dissipate. "Just kinda in a mood."

"Will booze help?"

"You shouldn't encourage someone who is feeling unhappy to drink."

"Yea, but like, alcohol relaxes you...relaxes your body," he explained, gesturing with his hands in a manner that you assumed meant 'relaxation'.

"…OK."

"Yea? OK. What do you want?"

"Surprise me, Mr. Bartender," you decided.

"I got this," he declared, standing up with purpose. He leaned over and kissed the top of your head, before heading out of the room.

You couldn't help the long-suffering eye roll after he'd left, amused and endeared by your boyfriend's behavior. For all his rough edges and cluelessness, Dean really had such a good heart. He didn't always have the answers, but he certainly never let that stop him from trying, or from taking care of you the best way he knew how. You couldn't really ask for more.

When he returned with a Jameson and Coke, you loved him just a little bit deeper. It was delicious, definitely put you a bit more at ease. And when he sat down, and pulled you in to his side, you knew there was no better place for you to be. Your bad mood would be gone soon enough, you were sure of it.