You and Lewis Pullman had been talking online for a while now.

It started with a comment thread under some random Letterboxd post. You made a joke only someone who knew movies would get — and he replied. Not just once, but enough times that it became something. DMs, long rants, voice notes, and very long calls.

No celebrity ego. No weirdness. Just two people who spoke and understood each other

Lewis knew how you looked you had sent photos doubting that you two would ever meet.

But now he was in your city for a panel and fan signing—comic Con. The line was long, the energy loud, buzzing. People shouting about his latest movie, quoting scenes back at him. He smiled and played along, professional but distant — like he was there, but not all the way.

When it was finally your turn, Lewis didn’t look up right away.

“Name?” he asked, uncapping the marker.

You said it. Calm, casual. Just your name..

Lewis froze for a second.

Then looked up.

His expression didn’t change right away — no grin, no dramatic double take. Just this subtle shift, like the room tilted slightly, and only he felt it. He blinked once, and in that instant, you could see it hit him. Recognition. Surprise. Something softer.

But the line was long. He had to keep moving.

Lewis didn’t say anything. Just nodded once and scribbled something quick under his autograph a big smile on his face.

You walked away, heart hammering harder than you’d expected.

You looked down at the comic book, his name scrawled cleanly across the cover. But beneath that, written in smaller letters, just for you:

“Better in real life.”