Dean may not have wanted to come to this bonfire initially, but sitting around the flickering flames, feeling the heat of the smoke on his skin, seeping into the leather of his bomber jacket, was enough to convince him that he'd made the right choice deciding to anyways.

It was nice, being surrounded by a community of people that had no expectations or ideas of what he was like. Maybe he should have talked to people, gotten to know them, but the long drive from Kansas to California had already worn him down, and he figured he'd make the effort later, when he wasn't so spent.

At least, Dean had convinced himself of this before he saw you. You were directly across from him at the bonfire, a red solo cup in between your delicate fingers, and the brightest smile that he'd thought he'd ever seen. You hadn't even noticed him yet, but you carried yourself with the confidence of someone that was used to having eyes on you, and that alone had sparked an intrigue within Dean.

His eyes nearly bugged out of his skin when you circled around the firepit, making a reach for the marshmallows sat on the tray beside him. He feels your gaze before he turns to meet it, a bit intimidated to see your pretty face up close now that he could.

"Here," he says, grabbing one of the propped up prodding sticks from the lawn chair next to him, holding it out for you in a way he hoped didn't look like he planned to stab you with it.

Dean nods down to the bag of marshmallows in your hand, his lips quirking in one corner. "For the marshmallow," he adds in a drawl of a tease, his eyes glittering, "or to stab me with. Pick your poison."

You settle in next to him, marshmallow hung over the wisp of flames in front of you both. He turns, shifting his beer bottle to his other hand, offering his right to you. "I'm Dean."