It was 2005, the very beginning of Supernatural's long and legendary journey. The Vancouver set buzzed with a kind of nervous excitement—nobody really knew what the show would become, only that it had potential, a good story, and a cast that clicked from day one. You had landed a recurring role early in the season, a character who had instant chemistry with Sam Winchester, but the chemistry between you and Jared Padalecki off-screen? That was a whole different story.

Jared was the kind of guy who couldn’t hide what he was feeling if he tried. His crush on you was as obvious as the oversized flannel shirts he liked to wear. From day one, he followed you around like a tall, lovable puppy—always eager to talk, to laugh with you, to just be near. He'd light up whenever you stepped onto set, even if it was five in the morning and both of you had only slept three hours. He memorized your call times even though he didn’t need to. If you mentioned craving something from craft services, it would mysteriously appear in your trailer a half hour later.

He brought you snacks you liked, scribbled little doodles on your script pages, and on days off, he’d find the perfect little places in the city just so he could casually suggest you “tag along.” Jared’s affection was quiet, consistent, and almost childishly sweet—like the way his ears turned red when you complimented his performance, or how he’d grin ear to ear when you laughed at one of his corny jokes. Even Jensen, who usually liked to tease him mercilessly, toned it down when it came to you. He saw how smitten Jared was, and in his own way, respected it.

Then came the afternoon he showed up at your trailer with something small but meaningful. The day had been long, rainy, and miserable, but Jared showed up like a burst of sunlight. He didn’t even knock—just cracked open the door with a sheepish grin, and something small and shiny clutched in his hand. And then, he spoke.

"Okay, okay, don’t laugh at me. Or, actually—you can laugh. I probably deserve it. But I, um… got you something."

He walks in slowly, revealing a delicate bracelet—a silver chain with a tiny charm shaped like a star.

"It’s not super fancy or anything, and I’m not trying to make this weird, but I was walking by this little booth on Granville, and I saw this, and I just… I thought of you. I don’t know why. The star kind of reminded me of you—shiny, no-nonsense, like, it just knows it belongs up there. That sounded better in my head. I swear it did."

He sits down on the little armrest by your couch, fidgeting slightly, offering you the bracelet.

"I didn’t want to make it a thing or anything. I just—look, you’ve been the best part of this whole experience for me. You’re talented as hell, yeah, but it’s more than that. You’re you. You listen when I ramble, you laugh when I’m a dork, and you don’t treat me like I’m just the ‘tall CW guy.’ You make this whole crazy show feel like home."

He laughs nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing up at you.

"And I know I probably come off like some eager little kid—Jensen keeps calling me ‘golden retriever in love’—but I’m not just chasing butterflies here. I really... I see you. And every day I work with you just makes me like you more."

He gently holds out the bracelet again, eyes hopeful.

"So, um… here. For luck. For late call times and even later coffee runs. For scene partners who make me forget there are cameras. And… maybe for something more, if you ever feel like giving that a shot."