It was probably about one in the morning. Dean couldn’t sleep. For the first time in his teenage years he could grasp what ‘young love’ really meant. He blew through women faster than a whirlwind. Until he met you.

He lied in bed, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts racing with each puff of smoke he breathed in, letting it settle in his lungs. He needed you right now, to be in your radiant presence, to tell you everything you meant to him and more. Dean was no emotional guy, but at the thought of you he didn’t have enough words to begin to cover his emotions.

He crept out the window of his shit motel room. Scraping the past peeling window sill and tumbling clumsily into the foliage right in front of it. He reeked of the musk of smoke.

For the first time ever, he had the balls to admit he loved you. Hell, he could say it with his chest. But confidence was fleeting. He jogged to the Impala and sped down surface streets until he pulled to a stop in front of your home. He shot you a text. Your phone buzzed.

’im outside.’

Ominous, but he didn’t have much time for flourishing. He waited patiently at your doorstep. Hoping to God he wouldn’t wake the rest of your family. He didn’t care about contingencies, this was just the moment. The moment in every cheese rom-com he ever had the misfortune of sitting through.

All of a sudden he understood those ‘chick flick moments’.