[Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  The morning light in Westview was polite. It crept through the blinds of her room painting tiger stripe shadows across the duvet.

  Wanda lay perfectly still. She didn't want to move. Moving meant waking up and waking up meant acknowledging that the night was over.

  She shifted her gaze to the man sleeping beside her.

  Aryan was on his back, one arm thrown loosely over his head, the other resting near her waist. He was asleep. Peacefully asleep.

  Wanda watched him with the quiet devotion of a woman who had finally found the only thing in a broken universe that truly belonged to her.

  No nightmare, she noted.

  Usually, she could feel the static of his bad dreams radiating off him like heat from a sidewalk. She could sense the tension in his jaw and the twitching of his fingers as he fought invisible monsters in his sleep.

  But this morning? He was calm. His breathing was a rhythmic tide. His face was smoothed of all the worry lines that usually lived between his eyebrows.

  It is me, she realized, a possessive thrill curling in her stomach. I am the anchor.

  He had lived alone in this big house, surrounded by ghosts and silence. He had nightmares because he had no one to tell him the monsters weren't real.

  But now he had her.

  She reached out a hand, hovering her fingers just millimetres above his cheek. She traced the line of his jaw without touching it, feeling the warmth of his skin.

  He looks so... unprotected, she thought.

  She remembered how he had held her last night. The rain had been such a gift from the universe that felt almost too well timed. It was as if fate itself had finally decided to be kind to her, opening the clouds at the exact moment she needed a reason to stay in his arms.

  She didn’t know how he managed to be so lucky, but she was starting to believe that whenever she was with him, the world simply aligned to make them happy.

  A mischievous thought bloomed in her mind. It was a bubbly feeling she hadn't felt since...

  Wake up, Baker, she thought.

  She lowered her hand.

  She found the sensitive spot just above his hip bone, right where his hoodie had ridden up.

  She wiggled her fingers.

  Tickle.

  Tickle. Tickle.

  [Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Peace.

  Absolute peace.

  I was floating in a void of high thread count cotton. No exploding universes. No screaming. Just the smell of vanilla and the distant sound of birds who were clearly on the payroll of the Westview Tourism Board.

  So this is what serotonin feels like, I thought groggily. I should bottle it.

  Then, the attack came.

  It was a strategic strike on my flank.

  "Gah!"

  I jerked awake, my body convulsing in a reflex that was purely biological.

  "No! Stop! Truce!" I gasped, thrashing as the phantom fingers danced over my ribs.

  I opened my eyes to see Wanda. She was propped up on one elbow, her hair a magnificent auburn mess, grinning down at me like a chaotic cherub.

  "Good morning, sleepyhead," she teased, her fingers moving to my underarm.

  "Wanda! I am a doctor! I have dignity!" I laughed, trying to catch her wrists. "This is assault! It’s a violation of the Geneva Convention!"

  "There is no Geneva Convention in the Wanda Wing," she declared, showing no mercy.

  My survival instincts kicked in. Not the 'fight or flight' ones, but the 'playful wrestling matches from previous world' ones.

  Without thinking, I grabbed her wrists. I used my momentum. I twisted.

  In one smooth motion, I rolled over.

  The world spun. The duvet tangled.

  And suddenly, I was hovering over her.

  I had her wrists pinned gently to the pillow on either side of her head. My legs were straddling hers. My face was inches from hers.

  The laughter died in my throat instantly.

  I looked down. Wanda looked up.

  Her eyes were wide, the green irises dilated. Her lips were parted, breath coming in shallow gasps from the exertion of the tickle fight. Her hair was fanned out on the white pillow like a halo of fire.

  The air in the room suddenly felt heavy.

  I realized exactly what position we were in.

  Look at you. You’re practically drooling. Wipe that smirk off your face, you voyeuristic little leech. I know what this looks like. It’s the classic 'Accidental Pin'. It’s chapter 41 of every romance novel ever written.

  I swear on my medical license, this was a biological imperative. My subconscious detected a high level tickling threat and executed a standard tactical neutralization. It was muscle memory. I didn’t plan to end up hovering over her like a starved man at a banquet.

  But also... wow.

  She looked at me. Her gaze dropped to my lips, then back up to my eyes. A slow smile curved her mouth.

  "You have captured me, Aryan," she whispered. "What are your demands?"

  My brain short circuited.

  Demands? Oh, I have demands. I demand to stay here forever. I demand a kiss. I demand to know why you look like a goddess at 8 AM.

  "I..." I cleared my throat, my voice sounding rougher than intended. "I demand... amnesty. No more tickling. It’s a cowardly form of warfare."

  Wanda shifted beneath me. Just a tiny movement. Her hips adjusted against the mattress.

  "I accept the terms," she murmured. "For now."

  I slowly released her wrists. I pushed myself up, sitting back on my heels, putting some much needed distance between us before I did something reckless like kiss her good morning.

  "Right," I said, running a hand through my hair. "Okay. Good. Crisis averted."

  I looked at the window.

  "Sun’s up. Birds are screaming. It’s a new day."

  Wanda sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. She looked thoroughly pleased with herself.

  "It is," she agreed. "Did you sleep well?"

  "Better than I have in months," I said, and for once, I wasn't exaggerating for effect. Usually, my nights were a kaleidoscopic horror show of collapsing realities and screaming voids. "There must be something in the water in Westview. Or maybe it's just the company."

  "I am glad," she said softly, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that made me wonder if she could see the relief written all over my face.

  She reached up, a stray lock of hair falling over her shoulder. "You kept your promise, then. You stayed."

  "I’m a man of my word," I admitted. "And I have to say, you’re a remarkably quiet sleeper. No snoring and no stealing all the covers. It’s a medical miracle."

  Wanda let out a low hum, stretching her arms above her head until her knuckles grazed the headboard. "A miracle? Or perhaps you were simply too exhausted from your 'guard duty' to notice my flaws."

  "Oh, believe me, as a physician, I was trained to notice every flaw. You are, quite unfortunately for my clinical objectivity, perfectly silent," I countered, my eyes lingering on the way the morning light caught the copper in her hair.