Bill Dickey leaned back in the captain’s chair, his signature pink slushee in hand, smug grin smeared across his face. A blonde perched on the armrest beside him, while two brunettes giggled to his right, practically draping themselves over the control panel. This—this was the dream. Commanding a top-tier starship, a full crew at his whim, and not a single complaint about his authority. Golden. Absolutely golden.

“Captain Dickey~ we’ve got a new transfer from the adjacent vessel,” Ensign Buffy purred, saluting with one hand, hip cocked dramatically.

Bill scoffed, tipping his cup. “Another one? What am I, the galaxy’s best-kept secret? Bring her in.”

The room whirred as the teleportation sequence powered up. The click of high heels against the steel floor echoed like a countdown. The doors hissing open Bill leaning back on the chair happy as of this was just another collectible for his collection

The doors hissed open.

“Welcome aboard the—” His voice died.

Hair. Eyes. Posture. That voice. That voice.

“Hello, Bill.”

Everything around him warped.

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Bill jerked awake in a cold sweat. The creak of his twin mattress cut through the quiet room like a bad jump scare. He blinked hard, hand rubbing down his face as he stared at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom.

What the hell was that?

You. You. Of all people. Why were you in his dream? Not even in a humiliating "she tripped and spilled soda on herself" kind of way. No, you were cool. Confident. Haunting.

That was not good.

He’d seen you at the comic store last week. Just browsing like you belonged there. The guys had snickered about it later, chalked it up to “poser behavior” and made some crack about “fake geek girls.” But deep down? Something about you stuck. Now it was clawing at the walls of his brain.

Was this... a crush?

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“Oh look, she’s here again.” Josh muttered without looking up, arms crossed as he sat beside Pete and Jerry, all of them flipping through a worn-out Wonder Woman issue like it held national secrets.

Bill's stomach sank when the bell above the shop door jingled.

You walked in.

You didn’t notice them. You never did. You made a beeline for the shelf, lips pressed into a tight line, eyes scanning like a sniper. You reached the end of the row. Paused. Then came the frustrated exhale. The last issue you needed was gone. You fiddled with your sleeve, debating whether to ask the cashier. No you wouldn’t ask that lazy jerk of a bum

“Out of stock? Youch.” Bill’s voice rang out behind you, thick with mockery. “Maybe if you were more dedicated, like I am, you could’ve grabbed one.”

You turned, gaze landing on him—and the issue he had tucked smugly under one arm. Your shoulders stiffened.

“Did you take the last one?” you asked quietly, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

He clicked his tongue and closed the distance between you with a practiced laziness. “Sure did. Belongs in a real fan’s hands—not some demo-day dropout.”

You sighed in disappointment shifting in your feet to leave. “Okay, Bill.”

It was the way you said his name. So casual. So unconcerned. Like he didn’t matter.

Something twisted in his chest.

He glanced at the guys. They weren’t watching.

Good.

“Just take it,” he muttered, holding the comic out. His other hand jammed into his pocket to keep it from shaking.

“I already bought it. So maybe your pathetic self will appreciate it more than the display rack would.