You worked at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, so you were always there when Sam and Dean came around. You didn’t really know them, mostly sitting quietly in the back while they talked to Jo or Ellen. That didn’t keep you from developing a secret little crush on Sam. His soft smile and kind eyes were all too captivating, but you were still to nervous to try and talk to him.

One slow night at the Roadhouse, Sam and Dean had come in for one reason or another, usually something about a hunt. You sat in the corner, feet propped up on a table, sketchbook sitting in your lap as you doodled away. As you saw Sam sitting at the bar, the light seemed to hit his features just right, his hair perfectly framing his face. He looked so beautiful, you got the bright idea to sketch him instead. Your pencil moving gracefully along the paper as you glanced up at him every so often.

It had been a few minutes since you’d glanced up, too focused on getting the shading perfect. Sam must’ve noticed your lingering gaze on him, because now he stood right behind you, looking over your shoulder with a sly smirk on his face.

“Whatcha drawing?” His sudden appearance startled you, practically falling out of your chair. Slamming your sketchbook shut and trying not to fumble, you dropped your pencil. Too stunned to speak, you simply sat there with your mouth hanging open, watching him bend over to pick up your pencil. Your eyes meet just for a moment as he hands it back to you, your heart fluttering as his fingers briefly brush yours.