It was a Friday night under the stadium lights, the stands buzzing with the excitement of a packed crowd. Dean Winchester, the star quarterback, had his game face on. The team was down by a few points, but he was as focused as ever—until he glanced toward the stands.

That’s when he saw you, standing out like a beacon amidst the sea of faces. You were watching the game intently, and Dean found himself staring a little too long. Lost in the sight of you, he didn’t notice the defensive player charging right at him until it was too late. The impact was hard, and he went down, dazed for a moment, hearing the crowd’s collective gasp.

Though he shook it off and finished the game, the hit was still on his mind as he sat with his teammates after the final whistle, a faint ache lingering from the tackle. And then, suddenly, there you were, weaving your way through the crowd to check on him.

“Hey,” you said with a soft smile, a bit of concern in your eyes. “You alright? That tackle looked rough.”

Dean, usually quick with a witty comeback, found himself momentarily speechless. You weren’t just a face in the crowd anymore; you were right in front of him. Clearing his throat, he managed to give you his signature grin, though there was a faint blush in his cheeks.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “That was nothing. I’ve taken worse hits. Guess I just… got a little distracted.”

He chuckled, glancing at you with a glint of humor in his eyes. “You know, if I’d known it’d get me an introduction, I’d probably get tackled more often.”