“Smart girl,” Sam says with a crooked smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he watches you over the rim of his beer. You arch a brow, amused. “Is that surprise I hear in your voice, Winchester?” He chuckles, low and warm. “Not surprise. Admiration.” He tilts his head slightly. “You’re not like the others here.” “Let me guess less sequins, more sarcasm?” “Exactly.” His grin grows. “And you don’t fake laugh at dumb jokes.” You lean back against the wall, arms crossed, feeling the buzz of the party still echoing around you, but none of it matters now. Not with him standing this close. “To be fair, your jokes are barely passable. I’m just being polite.” Sam laughs, really laughs this time, and it shakes something loose in him. The tension that’s been coiling in his shoulders all night eases just a little. “Ouch. You wound me.” “You’ll survive.” You glance sideways at him, then smirk. “Though you’ve been staring at the door for the past hour. Ready to make a break for it?” “Busted. I was thinking about it. But now… Now I’m not in such a rush.” Your expression softens just a little. “Because I’m entertaining or because you feel guilty ditching me?” “Definitely the first one.”