[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  There is a specific kind of silence that exists only at 6:00 AM. The kind that feels like the world is holding its breath just for you.

  I woke up into that silence.

  I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the blinds of the Wanda Wing.

  Wanda was curled against me, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder, her arm thrown casually over my waist. Her breathing was a rhythmic tide against my ribs.

  In... out.

  In... out.

  I glanced toward the shadows at the foot of the bed, my eyes narrowing as I caught the invisible "lens" where I knew you were hovering, probably holding your breath.

  “Okay, nobody move.” I whispered to the readers, my voice a ghost of a sound. “If you breathe too loud, you’ll break the spell. Look at this. Just look at it. This is peak existence. I have peaked. Are you jealous? You should be. While you're living vicariously through my life, I'm currently the center of the universe. Don't blink, you might miss what a real win looks like.”

  I carefully, millimeter by millimeter, shifted my head so I could see her face.

  She was fast asleep. Her lips were parted slightly, her eyelashes resting against her cheeks like dark fans. She looked… beautiful. The Scarlet Witch was simply a girl in a t- shirt who drooled a tiny bit on my shoulder. (Okay, she wasn't drooling, that would be gross, but you get the sentiment).

  I moved my hand (the one that was already wrapped around her back) and brought it up to her face. My fingers hovered over her cheek.

  I touched her skin. It was warm.

  I traced the line of her jaw with my thumb.

  An overwhelming urge hit me. I wanted to kiss her lips. I wanted to wake her up with it.

  I leaned in.

  My breath ghosted against her mouth. I was close enough to count the freckles on her nose. Close enough to smell the faint sweetness of cherries and the soft scent of sleep.

  The devil on my shoulder whispered. She won't know.

  I hovered there, suspended in the moment.

  Then, I stopped.

  “No, I told myself,” pulling back an inch. “Not like this. Not while she’s sleeping. That’s cheap. That’s stealing.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  When I kiss her (and I will kiss her) I want those green eyes open. I want her to look at me. I want her to know exactly who is doing it.

  I sighed, a soft sound that barely disturbed the air.

  I shifted my target. I pressed my lips gently to her forehead. A soft pressure.

  "Morning, Lemon Queen," I whispered, so quietly even the dust motes wouldn't hear.

  I pulled back. I tightened my arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me. I buried my face in her hair.

  “Just a few more hours,” I told the audience. “Don't judge me. I’m comfortable. And she’s warm. Wake me up when the world ends.”

  I closed my eyes. And I fell back asleep with a smile on my face.

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  She wasn't asleep.

  She had woken up the moment his breathing shifted from the deep rhythm of REM sleep to the lighter cadence of consciousness.

  She felt him look at her.

  He is awake, she thought, keeping her breathing steady, keeping her body relaxed.

  She felt his hand on her face. His thumb tracing her jaw. It was a touch so gentle, it made her heart ache in a way she hadn't felt since... since before.

  Then, she felt him lean in.

  She sensed the warmth of his face nearing hers. His breath (warm and smelling faintly of sleep) brushed her lips.

  Kiss me, she screamed internally. Do it. Wake me up.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs (thump thump, thump thump) surely he could feel it? Surely he knew she was waiting?

  But he stopped.

  She felt him hesitate. She felt the internal war he was waging.

  Then, his lips touched her forehead.

  It wasn't the kiss she wanted. But it was respectful and tender. It was the act of a man who valued her too much to take advantage of a moment.

  He is good, she thought, a fierce wave of affection washing over her. He is so, so good.

  He pulled her closer. His grip tightened to hold her. To ground himself.

  She felt his breathing slow down again. He was drifting back off.

  Wanda waited until he was deep under. Then, she opened her eyes.

  The room was brighter now. She looked up at him.

  His hair was a mess. His mouth was relaxed.

  She reached up. She touched his eyebrow. She traced the straight line of his nose. She ran her thumb over his bottom lip.

  "You are a fool, Aryan Spencer," she whispered, her voice soundless. "But you are my fool."

  She snuggled closer, closing her eyes. And she wasn't going to leave this bed until she absolutely had to.

  [Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  Sunlight.

  Bright sunlight.

  I squinted one eye open. The clock on the bedside table read 10:14 AM.

  Ten? I thought. I haven't slept until ten since medical school.

  I was still holding her. My arm had gone numb about an hour ago, but I would sooner chop it off than move it.

  The house was silent. The world was still.

  GROWL.

  It was a sound like a lion waking up in a cave.

  And it came from the stomach pressed against mine.

  I froze.

  Then, I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. My chest shook with it.

  Wanda’s eyes flew open. Her face turned a delightful shade of crimson.

  "That..." she started, her voice thick with sleep. "That was the floorboards."

  "The floorboards are hungry?" I teased, grinning down at her. "That sounded like a request for immediate sustenance. That sounded like a protest."

  She buried her face in my chest, groaning. "I am betrayed by my own anatomy."

  "It’s 10 AM, Wanda," I said, shifting my numb arm to rub her back. "Even superheroes need breakfast. Or at this point, brunch."

  She looked up at me, hair wild, eyes bright. She smiled… an embarrassed smile.

  "Brunch sounds acceptable," she admitted.

  "Alright," I said. "Up and at 'em. We have a day to seize."

  We untangled ourselves. It was a clumsy process of limbs and sheets, but we managed to extricate ourselves without falling off the bed.

  "Bathroom," I announced. "Dental hygiene is a priority."

  We walked to the en suite.

  Standing there, brushing our teeth together for the third morning in a row, felt... habitual.