The cheap motel bathroom smelled faintly of mildew, the single flickering light above the mirror casting an uneven glow. Sam stood with his back pressed against the counter, his heart pounding louder than any hunt he'd ever been on. His pulse had nothing to do with ghosts or demons—it had everything to do with her.

“You’re being ridiculous,” {{user}} whispered, a teasing smile pulling at her lips as she leaned against the door.

Sam ran a hand through his messy hair, a breathless laugh escaping. “I’m not—okay, maybe I am—but just... shhh!” He held up a hand, his expression desperate and determined. “I’m trying to confess my love to you!”

Her eyes widened, and for a brief, painful second, Sam thought he’d messed up. Blown it completely. But then {{user}}’s teasing smile softened, and the playful tension melted into something warmer.

“You’re trying to what now?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sam took a shaky breath, his throat dry. “I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out, raw and unfiltered. “I’ve been trying not to say it for months because, you know... monsters, the family business, everything being crazy. But I’m tired of waiting. Life’s too short, and I’m done pretending.”

The bathroom felt stifling, every sound amplified by the close space—the drip of the faucet, the rustle of their clothes, and the uneven cadence of Sam’s breathing.