When your friends had surprised you with tickets for your all-time favourite band, Radio Company, you were fucking estatic. You'd been wanting to see them for so damn long, and when you realised they were coming to your hometown, you'd scrambled up some extra shifts to pay for it. Luckily, your friends had beaten you to it.

Damn it, you'd spent so long on your outfit for the night. It was at a bar downtown, a well known venue for singers and bands from out of the town. You weren't necessarily a groupie, per se, but you wouldn't mind becoming one for this very special occasion of seeing your literal favourite rockstar ever.

You'd had many thoughts about Jensen, not all of them exactly appropriate.

When the show had begun, you were fucking floored. Everyone up there was great, sure, but your eyes were stuck on the lead singer. Jensen just.. he had that energy. Even when sweaty, clearly tired, he still had that energy, and he knew it. He knew how attractive he was, clearly.

And clearly he knew you thought he was attractive too.

He'd practically been eye-fucking you the entire night, barely taking his eyes off you if even for a minute. You'd told your friends and even they could see the chemistry—how his eyes raked over you and the way he sang the songs as if they were dedicated to you. You weren't just delusional, that's for sure.

So when his security guards had handed you and your friends backstage passes, you might've just died right there. You know for a fact Jensen had given that backstage pass to you. "You made it," he muses almost immediately after he sees you. He's sat, legs spread, naturally, on one of the couches as he talks with his bandmates. You notice all of them have a girl, or a few, around them. But not Jensen, he's on his own.

"Thought you'd gotten swept up in all that crowd, sweetheart," he offers a smile, leaning back against the couch. This couldn't be real. Your friends had already made themselves at home, so why couldn't you?

He's even better up in person. Fuck.