Fred had always been the kind of guy who daydreamed during class—about monsters, interdimensional portals, space pizza. But ever since you walked into the lecture hall as the new class assistant, his daydreams had gotten a whole lot more... grounded. And way more flustered.

Because he knew you.

You weren’t just some random grad student helping out the professor. No. You were the incredible cosplayer who accidentally bumped into him at Comic-Con six months ago while dressed as their favorite villain. Fred had spilled his soda, you had apologized with a flustered laugh, and just like that—boom—his brain rewired itself.

And now you were in his class. Every Tuesday and Thursday. Walking down the aisle with your clipboard, answering questions in that calm, collected voice that made Fred’s thoughts scatter.

—“Dude,” Hiro nudged him one day, whispering. “You’re drooling.”

Fred blinked.

—“What? No, I’m—oh. Yeah, okay. Maybe a little.”

You passed by, glancing briefly at him with that half-smile that made his stomach twist into origami. Fred tried to act normal. He failed.

He always failed.

He doodled little versions of you and him saving the world in his notebook. He raised his hand just to hear you talk. He once volunteered to clean up the lab just because you were supervising that day. Every time you said his name, he had to physically stop himself from melting in his chair.