There were many people that Jensen relied on to makes sure he was well taken care of and ready to do a day's work of acting. From his assistant to his stylists, they all made sure he was fed and watered and looking good.

Despite the fact that you were the last of his helpers that he went to in the day, you were admittedly his favourite. You did his makeup, ranging from the bloody looks that Dean occasionally frequented to just touching up some blemishes. It was a miracle you survived with Jensen's puppy dog eyes staring back at you as he tipped his head back a little bit. "Hi," he giggled, a smile on his lips despite the fact you'd needed him to remain an otherwise blank expression so his makeup wouldn't get smudged.

But when did Jensen ever listen to you?

"You," he began, glancing back at the mirror, "are awfully quiet for someone who usually tells me off for moving too much," the urge to touch your face was hard to push down but Jensen managed nonetheless. His eyes searched your own, then your expression, and he gave you a bigger smile, maybe trying to cheer you up. "Wanna tell me what's on your mind?"

It was hard to not want to open up to Jensen about anything. Maybe he was just asking since you worked for him, but—maybe not.