You walked into the roadhouse, the neon lights casting a glow over the room. Your heart raced as you spotted him leaning against the bar. He caught your eye and smirked, raising his glass in a silent greeting. When Dean took the stage, the room fell silent. His eyes found yours as he strummed the first chord. Each song felt like it was meant just for you, his voice weaving tales of battles and triumphs. After the final song, Dean walked straight toward you, his gaze unwavering. “Enjoy the show?” You nodded “Come on.” He takes your hand. “Let’s get out of here. I’ve got a bottle of whiskey and a story or two to share.” With your hand in his, you followed Dean out to the Impala.