[Luke’s POV]

I wake with a start, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings. Sunlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the room. I blink blearily, my eyes struggling to focus on the digital clock on the nightstand. The glowing red numbers slowly come into focus: 12:18 PM.

“Shit,” I mutter, sitting up abruptly. My head spins at the sudden movement, and I have to grip the edge of the bed to steady myself. How did I sleep so late? Why didn’t anyone wake me up?

As the fog of sleep clears, the events of yesterday come rushing back. The portal, Skye, Dark Star, Lucy... It wasn’t a dream after all. I’m really in another universe, a world of superheroes and impossible powers.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The room is eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the soft hum of the air conditioning. I half-expected to be woken up early, subjected to more tests or reintegration procedures. But it seems I’ve been left to my own devices.

After a quick shower and change into the clothes provided by Star Tower, a simple t-shirt and jeans that fit surprisingly well, I step out into the hallway. The corridor stretches out before me, empty and silent. My footsteps echo loudly as I make my way to the elevator, the sound amplified by the absence of any other activity.

The elevator ride down to the lobby is surreal. Soft jazz plays through hidden speakers, a stark contrast to the high-tech surroundings and the bizarre situation I find myself in. As the doors slide open with a soft chime, I’m greeted by the bustling activity of Star Tower’s lobby.

People in business attire hurry back and forth, their purposeful strides and serious expressions making me feel even more out of place.

I stand there for a moment, overwhelmed by the activity and unsure of what to do next. No one seems to be waiting for me or even paying attention to my presence. Am I supposed to check in somewhere? Report to someone?

I take a deep breath, steeling myself, and make my way across the polished marble floor to the reception desk. The click of my shoes echoes in the cavernous space, drawing a few curious glances from passing employees. The receptionist, a young woman with brown hair pulled back in a neat bun, looks up as I approach. Her warm eyes meet mine, and I notice a slight blush coloring her cheeks.

“Hi, I’m Luke,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

The receptionist tilts her head slightly, a puzzled expression crossing her face. “Hi Luke,” she replies, her voice tinged with confusion. The blush on her cheeks deepens, spreading to the tips of her ears.

‘She’s not going to introduce herself? What the fuck is wrong with this world.’

I shift awkwardly, suddenly realizing I have no idea what the protocol is for my situation. Am I supposed to be here? Do I have clearance to leave? The uncertainty must show on my face because the receptionist’s brow furrows slightly in concern.

“Am I allowed to leave?” I ask hesitantly, gesturing vaguely towards the large glass doors leading out to the street.

The receptionist’s confusion seems to deepen, her eyebrows knitting together as she regards me with a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity. “Yeah, of course, you can,” she says slowly, as if she’s not quite sure why I’m asking.

Relief washes over me, and I can’t help but smile. “Oh, thanks,” I say, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. My smile seems to have an effect on the receptionist, whose blush intensifies, spreading down her neck and disappearing beneath the collar of her crisp white blouse.

With a final nod to the still-blushing receptionist, I make my way towards the exit. The automatic doors slide open with a soft whoosh, and I step out into the bright Boston sunshine.

The sight that greets me is both familiar and strange. The streets of Boston stretch out before me, a tapestry of brick buildings, gleaming skyscrapers, and bustling sidewalks. It’s almost identical to the Boston I know, save for the imposing presence of Star Tower looming behind me.

As I step onto the bustling sidewalk, I’m immediately swept up in the rhythm of the city. The familiar sights and sounds of Boston wash over me, the honking of car horns, the chatter of pedestrians, the rumble of the T in the distance, someone calling someone else the F slur. For a moment, I can almost forget I’m in another universe.

I set off down the street, my stomach growling as I remember I haven’t eaten since yesterday. The thought of a juicy ShackBurger makes my mouth water.

‘I hope the Shake Shack in this world is just as good as the one back home.’

As I walk, I notice something odd. Every few blocks, I hear whistles and catcalls ringing out. “Hey baby, looking good!” “Damn, check out that ass!” At first, I assume they’re directed at women passing by, though it strikes me as strange that women would be so openly harassing other women on the street.

‘I guess lesbians in this world are really aggressive,’ I think to myself, feeling uncomfortable with the public displays.

I keep my head down, trying to ignore how aggressive the catcalls are as I make my way through the crowded sidewalks. The familiar green Shake Shack sign comes into view, and I breathe a sigh of relief. At least some things are the same here.

As I push open the door, the scent of grilled meat and french fries envelops me. My stomach rumbles loudly in response. The interior looks exactly like the Shake Shack I know, same menu boards, same retro-modern decor, same long line of hungry customers.

I take my place at the back of the queue, fishing my wallet out of my pocket. I’m grateful the Star Tower staff let me keep it, even if they confiscated my phone. As I wait, I scan the menu, relieved to see all my favorites are still there.

The line inches forward slowly. I notice the cashiers, all women, seem to be taking an unusually long time with each male customer, chatting and laughing flirtatiously. When it’s finally my turn, the cashier’s eyes light up as I approach.

“Well, hello there, handsome,” she purrs, leaning forward on the counter. “What can I get for you today?”

I blink, taken aback by her forwardness. “Uh, just a ShackBurger and fries, please.”

“Coming right up, sugar,” she winks, punching in my order. “That’ll be $12.50. Unless you want to make it a combo deal with me later?”

I stare at the cashier, my mind reeling from her blatant come-on. Her flirtatious smile falters slightly as she takes in my shocked expression.

“What?” I manage to stammer out, unsure of what to say.

The cashier’s cheeks flush a deep crimson, and she suddenly seems very interested in straightening the stack of napkins next to the register. “Oh, um, nothing,” she mumbles, avoiding eye contact. “I was just, you know, trying to be friendly. Customer service and all that.”

I continue to stare at her, utterly bewildered by the entire interaction. The awkward silence stretches between us, thick and palpable. Other customers in line start to shift impatiently, the low murmur of their conversations growing louder.

Finally, the cashier clears her throat, her voice strained as she forces a professional tone. “That’ll be $12.50, sir.”

Grateful for the return to normalcy, I reach into my wallet and pull out a crisp $10 bill and three $1 bills. I hand them over, relief washing over me as I anticipate the end of this uncomfortable encounter.

But as the cashier takes the money, her eyes widen in disbelief. She looks at the bills, then back at me, her expression morphing from confusion to annoyance.

“What’s this?” she demands, holding up the money as if it were something offensive. “This isn’t real money?”

I feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. “What do you mean?” I ask.

The cashier’s eyes narrow, her earlier flirtatiousness completely gone. “Are you fucking serious?” she hisses, her voice low but intense. “You’re gonna pretend like some random guy is on the dollar bill?”

“What?” I repeat, feeling completely lost. My mind races, trying to make sense of her words. Random guy? What is she talking about?

Just as the cashier slaps the bill on the counter to accost me, people start gasping around me. The atmosphere in the restaurant shifts dramatically, a wave of excitement rippling through the crowd. Heads turn, conversations halt mid-sentence, and a hushed silence falls over the entire establishment.

In walks Super Star, her presence commanding instant attention. Her red and green costume gleams under the fluorescent lights, the fabric seeming to shimmer with each graceful movement. Her long brown hair cascades over her shoulders, framing her face like a halo. The air around her almost seems to crackle with energy, as if the very molecules are excited by her presence.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

People start cheering for her when she walks in, their voices rising in a cacophony of adoration and excitement. “Super Star!” “We love you!” “You’re amazing!” The shouts blend together, creating a wall of sound that threatens to overwhelm the small restaurant.

Super Star’s eyes narrow, her lips pursing in annoyance at the commotion. With a single, commanding word, she silences the crowd. “Quiet!” Her voice, amplified by some unseen power, reverberates through the air, instantly hushing every voice in the room.

The silence that follows is almost deafening. You could hear a pin drop as Super Star makes her way across the restaurant, her cape billowing behind her like a crimson wave. Her eyes are locked on me, a mixture of amusement and exasperation dancing in their emerald depths.

As she approaches, I can feel the heat radiating from her body. It’s intoxicating, drawing me in even as my mind reels from the surreal nature of the situation.

“Lucas,” she says, her voice a rich, melodious purr that sends shivers down my spine. “I was following you. I wondered where you’d go.” Her lips curl into a smirk, one eyebrow arching elegantly. “Shake Shack? That was not on my list. Maybe a boutique on Newbury Street, but Shake Shack?”

Super Star’s eyes flick to the counter, where the crumpled bills still lie. Her brow furrows slightly as she reaches out, her gloved hand gently smoothing the currency. She holds it up to the light, her emerald eyes narrowing as she studies the unfamiliar face printed on the paper.

“Hmm, that’s an interesting-looking fellow.” Her gaze shifts back to me, a knowing glint in her eye. “Your world’s money, I presume?”

I nod, relief washing over me as understanding dawns. Of course, the currency would be different here. It’s such a small detail, but one that suddenly makes the vast gulf between our worlds feel insurmountably wide.

Super Star turns to the cashier, who’s been watching our interaction with a mixture of awe and confusion. “My friend here is a little confused,” she explains, her voice smooth as silk. “Can you just throw this on the Super Stars tab?”

The cashier’s eyes widen, her earlier annoyance evaporating instantly. She straightens up, a broad smile spreading across her face. “If he’s friends with you, it’s on the house, ma’am,” she says eagerly, her voice pitched slightly higher than before.

Super Star’s lips curve into a dazzling smile, the kind that could melt hearts and start wars. “How generous,” she purrs, her eyes never leaving the cashier’s face.

Super Star’s dazzling smile lingers on the cashier for a moment longer before she turns back to me. “Well, let’s get your food and be on our way, shall we?” she says, her voice low but strangely possessive.

We wait by the counter, the silence in the restaurant gradually giving way to excited whispers and the occasional flash of a phone camera. I can feel the weight of dozens of eyes on us, the air thick with curiosity and awe. Super Star seems unfazed by the attention, her posture relaxed and confident as she casually leans against the counter.

After what feels like an eternity, but is probably only a few minutes, a trembling employee approaches with a bag. The burger and fries are artfully arranged, the presentation far more elaborate than I’ve ever seen at a Shake Shack before. The employee sets the bag down with a nervous smile, her eyes darting between Super Star and me.

“Thank you,” Super Star says, her voice warm and seemingly genuine.

As we turn to leave, Super Star raises her hand in a graceful wave. “Thank you all,” she calls out, her voice carrying easily over the hushed murmurs of the crowd. “Your kindness is appreciated.”

The restaurant erupts in cheers and applause as we make our way to the exit. I notice several people holding up their phones, recording our departure. The knowledge that I’m probably going to end up on social media in this alternate universe is terrifying.

As soon as we step outside, Super Star sweeps me into her arms. The world blurs around us as we shoot upwards, the wind whipping through my hair. My stomach lurches at the sudden acceleration, and I instinctively cling tighter to Super Star, my fingers digging into the smooth fabric of her costume.

In a matter of seconds, we touch down on the roof of a towering skyscraper. The city stretches out below us, a dizzying tapestry of streets and buildings bathed in the warm afternoon sun. Super Star sets me down gently, then takes a seat on the edge of the roof, her legs dangling over the precipice.

She pats the space beside her, an invitation in her eyes. “Come on,” she says, a hint of challenge in her voice. “The view is spectacular from here.”

I hesitate, my heart racing at the thought of sitting so close to the edge. The drop before us seems endless, the ground impossibly far away. Super Star must sense my trepidation because her expression softens.

“I got you,” she smirks, her voice gentle but firm. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

Without hesitation, I step forward and lower myself to sit beside her, my legs dangling over the dizzying drop.

“Wow,” Skye says, her voice soft with wonder. “You really are not afraid of blind trust.”

I shrug, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I guess not,” I reply, surprised by my own calmness. “You said you got me, and I believe you.”

As I reach into the bag to retrieve my food, I suddenly freeze, a thought striking me with the force of a lightning bolt. I turn to Super Star, my eyes wide with panic.

“Do they do Spotify Wrapped here?” I blurt out, my voice tinged with desperation.

Super Star blinks, clearly thrown by the abrupt change of topic. “Yeah,” she says slowly, her brow furrowing in confusion.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. My Spotify account, my carefully curated playlists, my years of listening history, all of it left behind in my own universe. I’ll never see my Wrapped again, never know what my top songs were, never get to brag about being in the top 0.1% of Kanye listeners.

“Fuck!” I exclaim the word, carried away by the wind. “Now I’ll never see it!”

Skye looks at me with an outlandish grin, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. “Is that what you care about the most? Some music?” she asks, her voice a mixture of disbelief and playfulness. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on your wife?”

I smile, the corners of my mouth tugging upward despite the pang in my chest at her words. “You’re not my wife,” I reply softly.

Skye’s expression shifts, her playful grin morphing into a look of annoyance. Her eyes narrow dangerously, flashing with an intensity that makes my breath catch in my throat.

“You know,” she says, her voice low and tinged with something I can’t quite identify, “it’s not safe for a guy to walk the streets alone.”

I nearly laugh out loud, the absurdity of her statement striking me as ridiculous in light of everything else I’ve experienced. “What are you talking about?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief.

Skye’s brow furrows, her lips pursing in a mixture of concern and frustration. “I told you I was trailing you,” she explains, her voice taking on a lecturing tone. “You got catcalled by nearly a dozen women.”

Skye’s eyes flash dangerously as she inches closer to me, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on the back of my hand. The touch sends shivers down my spine, electric and intoxicating.

“It would be such a shame,” she purrs, her voice low, “if such a pretty flower got picked by the wrong hand.”

Her emerald eyes bore into mine with an intensity that steals my breath away. There’s something feral in her gaze, a predatory gleam that should terrify me. But instead, I feel a thrill of excitement course through my body. She looks so much like my Skye in this moment. Passionate, powerful, possessive.

“Are... are women dominant in this world?” I ask.

In response, Skye moves with lightning speed. Before I can react, she’s straddling me, pushing my arms behind my back, and holding them there with one strong hand. I gasp at the sudden movement, my burger slipping from my grasp and tumbling off the edge of the building.

“Aw, man,” I sigh, watching my lunch disappear into the abyss below.

“Oh, of course, women are dominant,” Skye says with a smirk, her emerald eyes glinting dangerously. “Did you really think it could be any other way?”

I gaze up at her, taking in the fierce determination in her expression, the power radiating from every line of her body. My heart races exhilaration coursing through me.

“Actually,” I reply softly, “in my world, men are typically seen as the stronger ones.”

Skye’s brow furrows in confusion, but the predatory gleam never leaves her eyes. “Oh? That’s a new one,” she muses, her grip on my wrists tightening slightly. “How... quaint.”

I swallow hard, hyper-aware of every point of contact between us. Her weight on my lap, her strong hands pinning me down, her face mere inches from mine, it’s all overwhelming in the best possible way.

“Look, Skye,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, “I really want this. Desperately. But... I don’t know you all that well. And you don’t know me.”

Skye shifts her position slightly, her eyes widening as she feels the unmistakable evidence of my arousal pressing against her. A slow, predatory smile spreads across her face, her emerald eyes glinting with a mixture of triumph and desire.

“Oh,” she growls, “I think your body is being pretty clear about what it wants, even if your words are saying something else.”

I swallow hard, my heart racing. “Skye,” I say, my voice thick with emotion, “I really do want this. You look exactly like the love of my life. But..”

Skye’s eyes flash dangerously, her grip on my wrists tightening. “I am the love of your life,” she barks, her voice brooking no argument.

“But you don’t know me,” I protest.

Skye leans in closer, her breath hot against my ear. “Your eyes tell enough of a story,” she whispers, sending shivers down my body.

I look into Skye’s emerald eyes, seeing the fierce desire and possessiveness burning within them. My resistance crumbles in an instant. “Fuck it,” I mutter and surge forward to capture her lips in a passionate kiss.

The moment our lips meet, it’s like a dam breaking. All the pent-up longing, grief, and desire from the past five years come rushing out. Skye responds with equal fervor, her lips moving against mine hungrily. Her grip on my wrists loosens as she brings one hand up to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer.

The kiss is electric, sending sparks shooting through my entire body. It’s familiar yet new, comforting yet thrilling. I lose myself in the sensation, the taste of her lips, the warmth of her body pressed against mine. For a blissful moment, the rest of the world fades away.

But as my life usually goes. All good things must come to an end.

The roar of an engine shatters the moment. We break apart, startled, to see Dark Star swooping towards us on a sleek, black hoverbike. The vehicle emits a low hum as it hovers beside the building, Dark Star’s cape billowing dramatically behind her.

“Super Star!” Dark Star shouts, her voice a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. “What the hell are you doing? You’re being filmed!”

Confused, we follow Dark Star’s pointing finger to a nearby rooftop. To my horror, I see a group of people gathered there, smartphones held high, clearly recording our intimate moment. The realization that our kiss might soon be plastered all over this world makes my stomach drop.

But Skye seems utterly unfazed by the revelation. She turns back to me, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Let ’em film,” she purrs, loud enough for Dark Star to hear. “I finally found someone worth my time.”

Her words send a thrill through me, a potent mixture of excitement and terror. Part of me wants to bask in her attention, to revel in being the chosen one of this incredible, powerful woman. But another part of me is acutely aware of the potential consequences, the scrutiny and danger that might come with being Super Star’s lover.

Dark Star’s jaw drops, her eyes widening behind her mask. “What the hell has gotten into you, Super Star?” she demands, her voice rising in pitch. “This isn’t like you at all!”

Skye’s grin turns predatory as she pulls me closer, her arm wrapping possessively around my waist. “Oh, nothing’s gotten into me,” she says, her voice dripping with suggestion. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Dark Star hisses, her voice barely audible over the whirring of the bike’s engine. “You’re not thinking about Luke’s reputation at all!”

Skye’s jaw clenches, a muscle twitching beneath her skin. Her arm around my waist tightens almost imperceptibly, and I can feel the tension radiating from her body. Finally, she lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Fuck,” she mutters, the word barely audible. Her eyes meet mine, a mixture of regret and determination swirling in their emerald depths. “Fine. We’ll head to the tower now.”

Without another word, without even a goodbye to Dark Star, Skye scoops me up into her arms. The world blurs around us as we take off, the wind rushing past with such force that it steals my breath away.