The Texas heat wraps around you like an old, familiar embrace as you step out onto the back porch, the scent of mesquite smoke and sizzling barbecue filling the air. It feels good to be home. After four years of California living—palm trees, ocean breezes, and coffee shops on every corner—Dallas feels grounding, like slipping into a well-worn pair of boots.

Your little sister has barely left your side since you walked through the front door, buzzing with excitement. Your parents, just as thrilled, have gone all out for your return—your dad especially. The backyard is packed, tables lined with food, laughter filling the air as friends and family gather to celebrate your graduation.

You weave through the crowd, exchanging hugs and catching up with old friends from high school. Some faces have changed—matured, softened—but the easy camaraderie remains. Then, as you scan the yard, your gaze lands on a figure near the grill, chatting effortlessly with your dad.

Jensen Ackles.

Your stomach dips slightly in surprise. You remember him—vaguely—from childhood. He’d been to your house once or twice, a familiar presence in conversations between your dad and his industry friends. But now, standing here years later, he’s more than just a distant memory.

He’s just as effortlessly charismatic as you recall, dressed casually in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, his familiar smirk playing at his lips as he listens to whatever story your dad is telling. There’s an ease to him, the kind that comes with years of confidence, success, and knowing exactly who he is.

Your eyes flicker to the side, where his wife and kids stand nearby, chatting with some of the other guests. You exhale through your nose, rolling your eyes slightly before shaking off whatever fleeting thought crossed your mind..