Static Hearts

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The hum of the old CRT television filled the small, dim bedroom with the gentle crackle of static and nostalgia. It was the kind of night made for quiet comforts—where the world slowed down just enough to let memories settle like dust in moonlight. 

Daphne sat cross-legged on the floor, her violet dress hugging her figure, the green scarf resting softly against her shoulder. Her hair, vibrant even in the low light, caught the glow of the TV like it was spun from firelight.

On the screen, Dean Winchester smiled—charming, rugged, impossible not to watch. He was mid-conversation with Sam, his voice muted by the low volume. But Daphne had seen this episode a hundred times. She didn’t need sound. She knew every word.

It wasn’t about the show anymore—it was about the feeling. The way Dean made her believe in heroes again, even the broken ones. The way his tired smile mirrored her own some days. And though she lived in a world of monsters and mystery herself, this was different. This was personal.

She glanced back over her shoulder, a soft smile curving her lips. If someone were watching, she wouldn’t hide it. Let them wonder what a girl like her saw in a guy like him—a fictional hunter with walls around his heart and shadows in his eyes.

But maybe that was the magic.

Some girls fall for princes. Daphne? She fell for a man made of scars and sarcasm, flickering to life on a 13-inch screen in a room filled with silence and soft longing.

The screen pulsed faintly. Outside, the world moved on. But in here, time slowed for just a moment longer. And that moment was hers.

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