[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  We pulled into the driveway. The rain was hammering down on the roof of the car, creating a cozy cocoon.

  I hit the button and the garage door rumbled up. I pulled the car inside.

  "Safe," I announced, killing the engine. "Mostly."

  I looked through the windshield at the main house. It was about thirty feet away, a blurry silhouette behind a curtain of falling water.

  I glanced at the "invisible camera" in the backseat, giving you a quick wink. "Detached garage. Best real estate decision I ever... well, acquired. It forces the issue, doesn't it?"

  I got out and walked around to her side, opening her door.

  "My lady," I said, offering a hand. "The bad news? The house is over there. The worse news? I'm a terrible host who doesn't own an umbrella. Ready to run for it?"

  She took my hand, her fingers locking tightly with mine.

  Wanda looked at the rain, then back at me. "On three?"

  "One. Two. Three!"

  We bolted. The rain was a sharp shock as it hammered against us, soaking my flannel shirt in seconds.

  I pulled her in close, my arm acting as a makeshift shield as we scrambled up the steps.

  We reached the porch, laughing like children as I fumbled the key into the lock.

  We tumbled through the door, the warmth of the hallway wrapping around us like a blanket.

  "It is cold out there," Wanda said, rubbing her arms.

  "Freezing," I agreed, looking down at the puddles forming around our shoes on the hardwood. "We need internal heating. And Soup. Immediate soup deployment."

  I glanced toward the empty space by the coat rack, giving you a quick look. "You see this? We're dripping. It's like a scene from a low budget indie romance. I'd be more annoyed if it wasn't working so well."

  "Wanda, you're basically a human sponge right now," I said, gesturing to her damp sweater. "If we stay like this, we'll turn the kitchen into a lake."

  "And the soup will not be enough to stop the shivering," she added, her teeth giving a perfectly timed chatter.

  "Exactly. New protocol: Change first, soup second. Go. Warmest, fuzziest things you own. I'll meet you back here in ten minutes."

  "Ten minutes," she agreed, already heading for the stairs with a light step.

  I watched her disappear around the landing before I headed toward my own room. "Ten minutes," I muttered to the hallway. "Ten minutes to find the one pair of sweatpants that doesn't make me look like a total slob. This is high stakes fashion, people."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  ———

  I stood on the landing, rocking back on my heels in a pair of gray wool socks. I'd swapped my drenched flannel for a worn-in navy hoodie and my most respectable looking sweatpants.

  Wanda's door clicked open a second later. She stepped out, looking like she'd been swallowed by a cloud of cream colored knitwear. The sweater was oversized, the sleeves covering half her hands, and her hair was loose and slightly damp at the ends.

  I looked toward the shadows near the linen closet, giving you a quick tilt of the head. "Observe. The 'damp to comfy' transition is a classic romantic maneuver. It lowers the guard. It increases the snuggle potential by four hundred percent. I'm playing chess while the rest of the world is playing checkers."

  "You look... warm," she said, her voice soft in the quiet hallway.

  "I feel like a marshmallow," I admitted, gesturing for her to lead the way. "And I believe there is a pot of tomato soup with our names on it."

  We headed down the stairs together, our footsteps muffled by the carpet. The house felt more intimate at night with the rain drumming against the siding as if the walls were leaning in to listen.

  We moved to the kitchen. I flipped on the under cabinet lighting and the small lamp on the counter. It created an amber glow.

  "Tomato Basil," I decided, pulling a container from the fridge (prepared earlier, because I am a strategic genius). "Comfort in liquid form."

  I poured it into a pot and set it on the stove.

  Wanda leaned against the counter next to me. She was close. The kitchen felt smaller than usual.

  The rain lashed against the kitchen window.

  Boom.

  A crack of thunder shook the house. It was a loud rumble that rattled the spice jars.

  I looked toward the dark window over the sink, giving you an impressed look.

  "Did you hear that? I didn't even have to pull a single atmospheric thread for that bass drop. Nature is just doing the heavy lifting for me now. If the universe wants to provide free special effects for my date, I'm absolutely taking the credit. Don't you dare tell her otherwise."

  Wanda gasped.

  She jumped.

  "Oh!"

  She turned and buried her face in my chest, her arms wrapping around my waist.

  I stood there, holding a wooden spoon, trying not to grin like an idiot.

  Wanda Maximoff. The Scarlet Witch. The woman who had fought Thanos. The woman who could level a city.

  Was pretending to be scared of thunder.

  I see you, Wanda, I told the audience, looking over her head. I see the game. And I am ready to play.

  I dropped the spoon. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her in tight. I rested my chin on top of her head.

  "It's okay," I murmured, rubbing her back. "Just a little noise. The sky is just... clearing its throat."

  "It is loud," she mumbled into my shirt. She pressed closer, molding herself against me.

  I could feel her heartbeat. It was steady.

  "I've got you," I said softly. "Nothing gets past the walls. I reinforced them with... positive thinking."

  She let out a muffled laugh against my chest.

  "You are safe," I repeated.

  We stood there for a long time. The soup bubbled forgotten on the stove. The rain poured. The thunder rumbled again, softer this time.

  She didn't pull away.

  "Aryan," she whispered.

  "Yeah?"

  She looked up. Her eyes were wide and filled with a vulnerability that (fake or not) made my knees weak.

  "I do not want to go upstairs alone," she said. "The storm..."

  "Say no more," I said. "The Buddy System is in effect."

  I turned off the stove. The soup could wait. Or maybe we'd skip it.

  "Come on," I said.

  I bent down and scooped her up into my arms. In a bridal style.

  She made a small sound of surprise, but her arms went around my neck instantly. She tucked her head into the crook of my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck.

  "You are getting used to this," she noted softly.

  "It's efficient," I lied. "Saves wear and tear on the stairs."

  I carried her out of the kitchen, through the darkened living room and up the stairs.

  Don't trip, I told myself. If you trip now, you ruin the romance and probably break a hip. Be graceful. Be Swayze.

  I reached the top landing. The rain was louder up here, drumming on the roof.