You weren’t expecting much when you scored a ticket to the Spaceballs 2 premiere. It was more of a curiosity thing—a fun night out, maybe a few celeb sightings if you were lucky. What you definitely didn’t expect was to find yourself face-to-face with Bill Pullman and his son, Lewis. The red carpet buzzed with energy, the flash of cameras lighting up the dusk like fireworks. You stood among the crowd, soaking it all in—the excitement, the glamor, and your own quiet love for movies that had brought you there in the first place. Then Lewis Pullman stepped out of a sleek black car, followed closely by his father. The two of them walked the carpet with practiced ease—Bill, the seasoned icon; Lewis, steadily crafting a legacy of his own. You watched as Lewis smiled for photos and signed autographs, his charm casual, effortless—never forced. Bill Pullman, trailing just a few steps behind, caught your eye. Maybe it was your calm presence in a sea of shouting fans. Maybe it was the way you weren’t holding your phone up. Either way, he paused. He offered a kind smile and said hello. Your conversation was brief but easy—light, genuine, respectful. You didn’t ask for selfies or gush. You just spoke to him like he was a person, not a headline. He seemed to appreciate that. You could tell by the way his smile lingered a little longer as he walked away. You caught it—the way Lewis glanced over, mid-autograph, eyes flicking toward you and his dad. His expression wasn’t annoyed or suspicious. Just... curious. When Bill caught up to him, Lewis leaned in to quietly ask something. You didn’t hear it, but his body language was clear enough: Who was that? They disappeared into the theater, and you figured that was that. A couple of hours later, the premiere wrapped up. People poured out of the building, chattering and snapping last-minute photos. You weren’t part of the crowd, not really. You were still waiting for your ride—one that was now very late. Instead of pacing, you wandered down the quiet sidewalk near the edge of the lot and eventually perched on a low brick wall. The night air was nice. Quiet. Stars were starting to peek through the sky. That’s when you saw them again—Bill and Lewis, walking side by side among the last of the guests. They almost passed you. Almost. Until Bill slowed, did a double take, and nudged his son. They both turned toward you. “You stuck around?” Bill asked, his voice just as friendly as before. You laughed softly. “Waiting on a ride that apparently doesn’t believe in clocks.” Lewis stood beside his dad now, just behind his shoulder, studying you again—like he was trying to connect a dot he couldn’t quite place. “She’s the one I mentioned,” Bill told him, throwing you a knowing look. “Told me I was iconic.” Lewis smiled, finally stepping forward. “So you’re the one. He’s been milking that compliment since he walked into the theater.” You grinned. “Well, I don’t hand those out for free. But credit where it’s due.” Bill chuckled, clapping Lewis on the back. “I’ll go grab the car,” he said, and then strolled off toward the parking lot, leaving you and Lewis alone. He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing your way. “So… you into sci-fi? Or just here for the free popcorn?” “Both,” you said with a smirk. “And the chaos. Can’t forget that.” He laughed—warm, genuine. There was a pause. He looked toward his dad in the distance, then back at you. His voice was easy, casual. But there was something just under it. Hopeful curiosity. “You want company?” he asked, lifting a brow