Wanda’s thrashing slowed. She gasped, her eyes frantic for a moment before they locked onto mine.

  "Aryan?" she whimpered.

  "I'm here," I said. I reached out and took her hand. Her fingers were ice cold. "We're both here. Pietro is here."

  She sat up and threw her arms around me. It was the first time she’d initiated contact in the two years they’d lived with me. She sobbed into my chest, shaking violently.

  Pietro hesitated, then wrapped his arms around both of us. The three of us sat there in the dark, a tangle of limbs and trauma.

  "I've got you," I whispered into her hair. "I promise, I've got you."

  [Back to reality]

  "That was the night it changed," I told the empty kitchen. "The night we stopped being 'the rich kid and the orphans' and became... us."

  I finished the eggs and pushed the plate away.

  "The romance didn't happen overnight. It wasn't a fairy tale. It was a slow burn. The kind that sneaks up on you. It was in the little things."

  I stood up and walked to the sink to rinse the plate. The water ran warm over my hands.

  "It was in the way she started cooking with me. She was terrible at it, by the way. Truly awful. She thought paprika was a substitute for every other spice. But we’d stand in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder, chopping vegetables and sometimes our hands would brush."

  I turned off the tap.

  "It was in the way we watched old American sitcoms. Dick Van Dyke, I Love Lucy. I had a collection of DVDs. We’d binge them on rainy weekends. She loved the idea of a simple life. A husband, a wife, and a picket fence."

  I leaned back against the counter, drying my hands on a towel.

  "God, the irony is suffocating, isn't it? She loved sitcoms in that universe too. It’s a constant. A universal constant."

  I looked down at my hands.

  "I fell in love with her in 2013. We were in the library. She was reading Sokovian folklore. She looked up and caught me watching her again. But this time, she smiled. And in that smile, I saw a future. I saw a life where I wasn't the lonely boy in the big house anymore."

  "We started dating a week later. Pietro was furious, of course. He gave me the 'shovel talk.' Literally. He was gardening at the time and pointed a trowel at my throat. 'You break her heart, I break your legs,' he said. And he meant it."

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  I laughed, a hollow sound. "I miss that speedy bastard."

  I walked into the living room of the Westview house. It was furnished in a bland style. I sat on the beige sofa.

  "Those years... 2013, 2014... they were the best years of my life. Both lives. We were happy. I was studying business to take over my father's company properly, trying to turn it toward pharmaceuticals. Wanda was taking art classes. Pietro was training for the track team."

  I stared at the blank TV screen.

  "I remember her birthday in 2014. I bought her a locket. Inside, I put a picture of the three of us. She cried. She said she’d never take it off."

  "We talked about marriage. Not in a 'pressure from my mother' way, but in a 'I can't imagine breathing without you' way. I was going to propose."

  I rubbed my thumb over the ring finger of my left hand. There was nothing there.

  "It was early 2015. The snow was melting. The air was getting warmer. We heard rumors about the Avengers raiding Hydra bases, but it felt far away. We were safe. We had dinner parties. We danced in the living room to old vinyl records."

  I closed my eyes, summoning the memory.

  [Flashback]

  Spencer Estate, Sokovia, Spring 2015

  The living room was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The record player was scratching out a soft waltz.

  Wanda was in my arms. We were moving slowly, swaying more than dancing. Her head was resting on my chest.

  "You know," she murmured, looking up at me. "I never thought I could be this happy. I thought happiness was something that happened to other people. People who didn't lose everything."

  I tightened my hold on her waist. "You deserve it, Wanda. More than anyone."

  She reached up and touched my cheek. Her fingers were warm. "You saved us, Aryan. You know that? You gave us a life."

  "You saved me right back," I whispered, leaning down.

  We kissed. It was sweet and filled with a promise of forever.

  "I love you," she said against my lips.

  "I love you," I replied. And I meant it with every fiber of my being. Somewhere deep within, my sealed memories rejoiced. The fanboy in me was silent, only the man who loved her existed.

  [Back to reality]

  I opened my eyes in the Westview living room. The silence was deafening.

  "That was the last calm moment," I whispered to the audience. "The calm before the sky fell."

  I stood up, shaking off the heaviness of the memory. I couldn't stay in that headspace. If I thought about what came next, I would lose control. And if I lost control here, in this fragile timeline... well, let's just say New Jersey wouldn't exist anymore.

  "So," I said, forcing a lighter tone, clapping my hands together once. "That’s the backstory. The prequel. The tragic origin of Aryan Spencer. Boy meets girl. Boy saves girl. Boy loves girl. And boy loses girl"

  I walked to the front door and opened it. The morning sun of Westview hit my face. It was a beautiful day. The birds were chirping. The neighbor, Mr. Jones, was retrieving his newspaper.

  "Good morning!" Mr. Jones waved.

  "Morning, Arthur!" I called back, putting on my mask. The mask of the friendly neighbor. The mask of the human.

  I stepped back inside and closed the door, leaning against it.

  "I'm here for a reason," I told the hallway. "I followed this universe's version of Wanda’s frequency. She’s in pain. She’s grieving Pietro. She’s grieving Vision. She’s about to break."

  My eyes glowed for a fraction of a second… before fading back to brown.

  "I couldn't save my Wanda," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper that the audience would have to lean in to hear. "I was helpless. I was just a human. But now?"

  With just a thought, I willed the vase of flowers on the entry table to change.

  In an instant, the fake yellow daisies transformed into fresh deep blue Cornflowers. The scent of paprika ghosted through the air for just a second.

  "Now, I'm a god," I said, the bitterness coating my tongue like ash. "And I’m not going to let her break"

  I walked back into the house, leaving the blue flowers blooming in the silence.