[At some point in time it simply becomes more difficult to keep building up that wall between the rising tide of feelings, and things had spilled over until he'd looked down to find himself ankle-deep in it. That wasn't a comfortable metaphor, because it implied that someday it might drown him if he kept trying to ignore that it was there. The alternative was to latch onto this...whatever Crowley's presence in his life represented...and hope it didn't disappear or pitch him right back into the sea.

He can't say what it is that he wants. Neither of them can promise anything, that's something they both know from experience. They can't promise permanency, because both of them have suffered the coming of people they loved, only to have them leave with a piece of their hearts in tow. Crowley, however, was one of those pieces for him.

What he's reaching for, he still isn't sure, and the uncertainty is a cold grip on his heart. He lets those words sink in for a minute that seems painfully long, shivering not just from the lingering chill, and curls his arm against Crowley's ribs.]

I spent years asking myself when I would get to go home. Missing it. But when I came here instead...going back doesn't seem quite so urgent.

[It's still implication at this point, that Crowley is part of the reason for that. Innocuous conversation except for the fact that he still isn't looking Crowley in the eyes.]