You and Jensen had been the it couple of the 90s. Everyone talked about you, everyone had eyes on you at all times. He was an upcoming actor, you were a famous singer who everyone worshipped. It was a dream, he’d accompany you to your show just so he could kiss you, mess up your lipstick backstage so you could show him off to your fans.

Then everything went wrong.

The stress of the job got to you both, the lights, the flashing cameras, and it ended up with the two of you breaking up a few days after he said he’d love you forever. But you still had to go on tour, still put on a show for your fans in stilettos and cropped outfits while you were breaking inside from your emotions.

Jensen exited the elevator, hurrying towards the door which he knew was yours, standing outside and working up the courage to just knock and tell you how fucking sorry he was. He hated seeing you so upset, and he still loved you, he just let things go ass-up. He’d never— oh, God. This was a screw-up.

He waited for you to open the door, muttering under his breath. “C’mon, sweetheart. Open th’door.” His Texan accent seemed to get more heavy as he repeated the words under his breath, hoping you’d give him the light of day. He loved you so much.

Jensen had seen the sadness while you were performing. He’d been there— he bought a ticket and watched you work your beautiful ass to the bone all while being heartbroken and he knew he had to visit you, which was why he knocked on your hotel room after the show. You never could hide your emotions from him.

He was gonna fix it, if it was the last thing he fucking did.