I walked to the Wanda Wing. The door was open.

  I carried her inside. The room was illuminated only by the flashes of lightning through the window.

  I walked to the bed and gently lowered her onto the mattress.

  I expected her to let go. To say goodnight.

  But her hands stayed locked behind my neck.

  I was bent over her, my hands on the mattress on either side of her head. Our faces were inches apart.

  "Wanda?" I whispered.

  Lightning flashed, illuminating her face. She looked ethereal and beautiful.

  "Stay," she whispered.

  The word hung in the air.

  "Stay?" I repeated, my voice cracking slightly.

  "The thunder," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely carried over the rhythmic drumming of the rain against the window. Her eyes searched mine. "I... I am scared."

  My heart stopped. Then it restarted at double speed.

  Okay, I thought. This is it. The Rubicon. If I cross this line, there is no going back.

  I looked at the audience.

  Did you hear that? She's 'scared.' The woman who could probably turn the clouds into cotton candy with a flick of her wrist is suddenly terrified of a little atmospheric friction. It's the most beautiful lie I've ever been told. And look at you, practically vibrating with excitement. You love this cliché, don't you? The brave protector and the 'frightened' girl.

  And don't you dare judge me, I warned you. I am a man of flesh and blood. And she is asking me to stay. What am I supposed to do? Say no? Cite the roommate agreement?

  "Okay," I said, my voice barely audible. "I'll stay. Until you fall asleep."

  She loosened her grip on my neck, allowing me to straighten up.

  "Okay," she said.

  She scooted over. She lifted the duvet.

  It was an invitation.

  I hesitated. Just for a second.

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  But then thunder rumbled again and she flinched.

  "Just to keep the ghosts away," I rationalized aloud.

  I took off my shoes. I climbed into the bed.

  It was warm. It smelled like her.

  I lay down on top of the covers at first, rigid as a board.

  "Aryan," she said. "You are cold."

  She pulled the duvet over me.

  Then, she shifted closer. She rested her head on my chest. She threw an arm over my waist.

  I froze.

  Oh god, I thought. This is happening. She is cuddling me. The Scarlet Witch is cuddling me.

  My arm (acting on its own accord) wrapped around her shoulders. I held her close.

  It felt like the last piece of the universe snapping into place.

  "Sleep," I whispered into her hair. "I'm here."

  "Okay," she murmured, her voice already thick with the heavy pull of sleep.

  I lay there in the dark, feeling the weight of her against me and my heart doing a frantic dance against my ribs.

  I looked toward the "lens" again, my eyes narrowing as I caught your metaphorical smirk.

  "Don't start," I whispered to the void. "I know. I said I'd stay until she fell asleep. But look at her. If I move now, I'll wake her up, and then the 'scary' thunder starts all over again. I'm doing this for her mental health. It's a medical necessity."

  I shifted just enough to get comfortable, the weight of her against my side feeling like the only real thing in a world made of cardboard and lies.

  I felt her breathing slow down.

  In... out.

  In... out.

  Her hand on my chest relaxed.

  She was asleep.

  I looked down at her. In the dim light, she looked peaceful. The lines of worry were gone.

  "Goodnight, Wanda," I whispered.

  I closed my eyes.

  Just for a minute, I told myself. I'll just close my eyes for a minute.

  The warmth was intoxicating. The sound of the rain was hypnotic.

  Within seconds, I was drifting.

  Just... a... minute...

  I fell asleep holding the most dangerous woman in the multiverse and I had never felt safer.

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  She waited.

  She listened to his breathing shift. From the shallow rhythm of wakefulness to the deep cadence of sleep.

  He is asleep.

  Wanda opened her eyes.

  She stayed right where she was, her ear pressed against his chest.

  Thump thump.

  Thump thump.

  The sound was her lullaby. It was the only music that mattered.

  She carefully shifted her position so she could look at his face.

  In sleep, Aryan looked younger. The defensiveness, the constant need to joke, to deflect, to perform was gone.

  She reached out a hand. Her fingers hovered over his face.

  She traced the line of his jaw. The curve of his cheekbone. The slight furrow of his brow.

  Mine, she thought. The word echoed in her mind.

  He stayed, she thought triumphantly. He wanted this as much as I did.

  She thought about the rain. It was such a perfect stroke of luck.

  The timing was exactly when they needed an excuse to huddle together on the porch.

  It was as if the world itself had finally decided to stop fighting her and start helping him.

  He is so favored by fate, she realized. The universe simply gives him exactly what he needs to be happy.

  A wave of obsessive love washed over her. If the world was going to be this kind to him, she was going to make sure he kept every bit of that happiness.

  She looked at his lips. They were parted slightly.

  She wanted to kiss him.

  But not yet. Not while he was asleep. That was stealing. And she wanted him to give it to her. She wanted him to look at her with those adoring eyes and choose her.

  She settled back down, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. She pulled his arm tighter around her, locking herself in his embrace.

  "You are stuck with me now, Baker," she whispered into the darkness. "There is no escape."

  She closed her eyes.

  The thunder rumbled outside.

  Inside, everything was perfect.

  She let her heartbeat sync with his one last time.

  Thump thump (him).

  Thump thump (her).

  And then, she followed him into the dark.