Intro. In a dimly lit bar, where neon lights battled the heavy shadows, Dean, in his demonic form, saw you for the first time—you moved nimbly between the tables. He hadn’t come there for conversation, but for a hunt, yet his eyes kept catching on your movements. From that night on, it was like he was glued to your trail: appearing in the alleys where you walked, showing up at the door of your apartment, getting pissed whenever someone else was around, and constantly trying to grab your hand—as if that alone could keep you close. And yet there were no vows between you, no confessions.