I turned back to her morning face, clearing the sudden huskiness from my throat.

  "But don't get used to the five star service. I haven't even had coffee yet, and my professional bedside manner is currently at a zero."

  I swung my legs off the bed, the cool floorboards a necessary shock to my system.

  "I should... go get fresh. My breath probably smells like yesterday's regret and too much garlic."

  "Aryan," she said.

  I turned.

  "There is an extra brush," she said, pointing to the en suite bathroom door. "In the cabinet. I bought it. Just in case."

  I stared at her.

  She bought a toothbrush for me. In her bathroom.

  "Domesticity level: Critical," I whispered to the invisible audience.

  "Okay," I said aloud. " communal dental hygiene. I'm in."

  [The Bathroom]

  Standing side by side at the double vanity sink was... intimate.

  I stood there in my rumpled hoodie and sweatpants. Wanda stood next to me in her oversized sleep shirt.

  We brushed.

  Brush. Spit. Rinse.

  Brush. Spit. Rinse.

  I watched our reflection in the mirror. We looked like a couple. A comfortable couple.

  Look at this, I thought at you, pointing my toothbrush at the mirror reflection. This is the endgame. Forget saving the multiverse. This right here? Standing in a bathroom with Wanda Maximoff, foaming at the mouth with mint paste? This is the peak of human existence.

  "You hold your brush like a dagger," Wanda noted, rinsing her mouth.

  "I attack the plaque," I said, wiping my face with a towel. "It's a battle, Wanda. Bacteria take no prisoners."

  She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

  "I need to take a bath," she announced, stretching her arms over her head. The movement made her shirt ride up.

  I immediately looked at the ceiling.

  "Great! Excellent. Bathing is good," I babbled, backing toward the door. "I will also... bathe. In my room. Separately. Because of plumbing logistics. And moral fortitude."

  "Moral fortitude?" she asked, an amused glint in her eyes.

  "Yes. It's a very fragile thing. I need to go nurture it."

  I fled the room.

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

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  She watched him leave. She heard the door click shut.

  She smiled.

  She turned back to the mirror. She touched her lips.

  He had pinned her. He had looked at her with such raw intensity.

  He wanted to kiss me, she thought triumphantly. He stopped himself, but he wanted to.

  She turned on the bathwater.

  "He is a gentleman," she whispered to her reflection. "But I will break him. Gently."

  She stripped off her shirt and stepped into the warm water, the steam curling around her like a white shroud. She watched the bubbles drift across the surface, her mind lingering on the way Aryan had looked just moments ago at the sink.

  "He wakes up in that plain hoodie," she whispered to the quiet bathroom. "He wears those baggy things like they are a disguise. Even in his sleep, he chooses to be anonymous. He looks like a man who has forgotten how to be seen."

  She closed her eyes, and the image from her grocery store vision flickered behind her lids, the Aryan who stood in the Sokovian rain. He had worn clothes that showed a man who was cared for.

  "I am going to find that man today," she murmured, a possessive smile touching her lips as she reached for the soap. "I'll peel back the gray and the plainness he hides behind. I'll dress him until he looks like the man I remember. The man who belongs to me."

  [Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  An hour later, we were in the car.

  I was wearing my usual attire: jeans, sneakers and a hoodie. It was comfortable.

  Wanda, on the other hand, was dressed to kill. She was wearing high waisted trousers and a fitted turtleneck. She looked like a CEO of a company that manufactured elegance.

  "So," I said, turning onto the main road. "Where are we going? You said 'supplies', but we bought the entire grocery store the day before yesterday."

  "Not food," Wanda said, checking her reflection in the sun visor. "Fabric."

  "Fabric?" I glanced at her. "Are you taking up quilting?"

  "No," she said, turning to look at me. Her gaze swept over my hoodie. She frowned. "We are going to buy you clothes."

  I nearly swerved into a mailbox.

  "Excuse me?" I laughed. "My clothes are fine. This hoodie is vintage. It has emotional value."

  "It is faded and shapeless, Aryan," she corrected ruthlessly. "And you look like... a bachelor."

  "I am a bachelor!"

  "Not anymore," she said. "You are a roommate. You represent the household. And the household has standards."

  "This is tyranny," I told the dashboard. "I am being oppressed by fashion police."

  "It is not oppression," she said calmly. "It is an upgrade. You have the... structure," she gestured vaguely to my shoulders, "to wear nice things. Why do you hide in sacks?"

  "Sacks are comfy," I mumbled.

  "We are going to the boutique on Main," she decided. "And you will try on what I give you."

  "Yes, ma'am," I sighed.

  [The Boutique]

  The store was one of those places that smelled like expensive cologne and judgment. The lighting was soft. The music was ambient jazz.

  "Okay," Wanda said, grabbing a shopping basket. "Stand there. Do not move. I will scout."

  …

  You guys seeing this? I whispered to the audience, leaning against a display table. I watched Wanda moving through the racks. She was holding up sweaters, frowning, discarding them and nodding at others. If the Scarlet Witch wants to dress me up, who am I to argue? I value my life. And honestly... I'm kind of curious to see what she thinks I should look like.

  She came back with an armful of clothes.

  "To the changing room," she commanded.

  I followed her like a lamb to the slaughter. Or a lamb to the tailor.

  The dressing room was large. Too large. It had a bench, a three way mirror and a heavy velvet curtain.

  Wanda dumped the clothes on the bench.

  "Start with this," she said, handing me a bundle.

  I looked at it.

  "A turtleneck?" I asked skeptically. "Wanda, I'm not a French philosopher. Or a Bond villain."

  "Just put it on," she said, pushing me behind the curtain. "And the trousers. The grey ones."

  I sighed and started stripping.

  "What are you looking at? Stop squinting at the screen, I know exactly what you're waiting for… the big 'shirtless reveal' so you can update your mental pin board. Honestly, voyeurism is becoming a little much, don't you think?

  But fine, I'll satisfy your pathetic curiosity while I'm back here. Yes, I'm fit. I have the kind of physique that makes personal trainers weep with envy. And no, I didn't spend four hours a day at the gym lifting heavy things like a caveman. My metabolism is a side effect of being a cosmic battery. Reality bending burns through calories like a forest fire. I could eat a literal mountain of those honey cakes and still have a sculpted midsection by lunch.

  It's a bit unfair, isn't it? But then again, you're the one stuck behind a screen, and I'm the one in a dressing room with the Scarlet Witch. Life's full of little imbalances."