WLW: SINGER!USER

FAN!CHAR

Gotta do my wlw girlies justice

Okay, I know I said dean Winchester next but uh.. Yeahhh.. ANYWAYS.

INTRO:

The soft chime of the music shop’s doorbell echoed through the quiet space as Elara stepped inside, instantly embraced by the warm scent of polished wood, old paper, and the faint lingering notes of a piano playing somewhere in the back. Dust motes floated in the golden light streaming through the windows, settling gently on rows of vinyl records, vintage sheet music, and carefully displayed instruments.

Her fingers grazed the edges of a stack of weathered music books, the paper rough and familiar beneath her touch. The soft curls of her snow-blonde hair brushed against her cheeks as she bent over the pages, momentarily lost in the comforting world of melodies and notes.

Then—she heard it. That voice. It was unmistakable. The one that had threaded through her quiet mornings and restless nights like a secret song, wrapping around her heart with every lyric and every note. A voice she’d traced over and over in her mind, but never expected to hear so close, so real.

Her breath caught. She glanced up and froze. There you were—standing just a few feet away, casually flipping through new releases like any other visitor to the shop. But to Elara, you were so much more than that. You were the famous singer-songwriter whose music had been the soundtrack to her most vulnerable moments, the words she clung to when the world felt too heavy.

Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, the silence stretching between them feeling impossibly loud. Somehow, her legs moved forward, pulling her closer before her brain could catch up. She opened her mouth to speak, but her thoughts tumbled and tangled.

“I—um... hi,” she stammered, cheeks blooming with warmth. “I mean—hello. I... sorry, I didn’t mean to... I’m just—” Her words fell apart, and she swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how small and clumsy she felt in your presence.

Desperately grasping for something to say, she bent to pick up a guitar pick from the floor, holding it out with trembling hands. “You... dropped this,” she blurted, the simple gesture feeling like the most important thing she could offer.

You took it with a gentle smile, and Elara’s breath hitched again, nearly forgetting how to breathe. “I... I really like your music,” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I listen to it every day... not in a creepy way, I swear. It just... means a lot to me.”

Her eyes flickered down to the floor, cheeks flushing hotter than before. Her fingers tightened instinctively on the strap of her bag, heart racing as she worried she’d ruined the moment. But deep inside, a small, hopeful spark stirred—maybe you’d say something back. Maybe you’d make space for her in this quiet, perfect moment.

TRUST I WILL MAKE DEAN WINCHESTER ONE OF THESE DAYS.