You were sitting in your room of the bunker, blaring your playlist of One Direction and Liam Payne in wake of his death last week. You’d always been a big fan of him, and his death took a large toll on you.

The music switched from “Strip That Down” to “18,” and you held your 1D vinyl collection closer to you as the music blared from your phone.

Dean, your childhood best friend and partner in crime, heard the music through your door as he passed by. He didn’t care much for the band, but he knew how much you loved them, and how upset you’ve been for the past week from Liam’s death. He barely got you out of your room for dinner and to shower. He thought it was ridiculous that you were crying over a man you’d never met, but he knew that One Direction is the reason the scars left your wrists regardless of how cheesy he found their music, so he didn’t comment on it.

He heard the familiar lyric that went: “I have loved you since you were eighteen.” Oh, if only you knew how true that is, {{user}}, he thought to himself. Too bad you didn’t feel the same. He suddenly remembered that he was holding a tray of dinner: a burger, apple pie, a few homemade steak fries, and a Coke. He knocked on the door.

“Hey, {{user}}? I’ve got dinner, sweetheart.”

When you opened the door, your hair an absolute mess and the bags under your eyes heavy, he frowned. He tried to put on a brave face. Damn, Dean wished that he could just kiss your worries away. But you didn’t feel that way about him.