Jensen does it all. He sings, he acts, he’s funny, he’s kind, he cares. You insist he deserves his own personal cheerleader. Even if he doesn’t ask for one.

You met Jensen at a convention as a fan, vibrating with excitement you go there only to talk to your favorite actor, and get an autograph. You two end up having a long heart to heart, ranging from casual conversation to deep thoughts. You’re only thought had been I can’t believe this is happening, I can’t believe this is happening.

It felt absurd. Unrealistic when you say it out loud. Every fangirls’ dream—the two of you end up going out. You pinch yourself every waking hour from then to now when you stand outside a bar he regulars to meet him there.

A car pulls up, so ‘in a blur’ you hardly make a note of what kind, all you can see is Jensen. How you managed to make such great conversation without losing your shit is beyond you—because, I mean—look at him.

He walks over, a blindingly charming smile on his face. “My number one fan.” He muses, a veneer of hollywood energy in his inflection but then he positively melts right after. He was genuinely, truly, so fascinated by you. Touched, by the kind things you’ve said about him. Eager, to learn about you. That was the thing with real people. They don’t have wiki-page with birthdays and favorite colors.

He gets to know you.

“After you.” He opens the door with a hint of a bow. The warm tavern lights suck you in like a moth to flame.