After the ceremony, Reed found Sarah surrounded by her family and friends, all of them congratulating her and taking pictures. He hung back, not wanting to intrude on her celebration, but she spotted him and waved him over with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Everyone, this is Reed," Sarah announced, putting her arm around his waist. "The brilliant guy I've been telling you about."
Sarah's parents were kind but clearly puzzled by their daughter's attachment to someone so young. Her mother, a mathematics professor herself, asked Reed thoughtful questions about his research interests. Her father, a civil engineer, seemed impressed by Reed's practical knowledge of construction and mechanical systems.
"You've certainly made an impression on our Sarah," her mother said quietly to Reed while Sarah was talking with friends. "She talks about you constantly."
"She's incredible," Reed replied carefully, unsure how much Sarah had shared with her parents about their relationship.
"I hope you two can stay in touch," Sarah's father added with the kind of gentle encouragement adults gave to young people they expected would naturally grow apart. "Maybe when you're both a little older, things will work out differently."
Reed nodded politely, but he could see that Sarah's parents viewed their relationship as a sweet college romance that would naturally fade with time and distance. They weren't being mean, just realistic about the challenges facing two people at such different stages of life.
The final goodbye came later that evening, after all the celebrations had ended and the families had gone home. Reed and Sarah walked slowly around campus one last time, visiting the places that had become special to them over the past few months.
"I'm going to miss our study sessions," Sarah said as they passed the library where they'd spent countless hours working on separate assignments while stealing glances at each other.
"I'm going to miss having someone who actually listened when I got excited about something," Reed replied. "You never made me feel like I was being too much."
They ended up back at the fountain where they'd had their difficult conversation weeks earlier. This time, instead of tears, there was a heavy sadness mixed with acceptance of what had to happen.
"I keep thinking I should have some profound thing to say," Sarah admitted, sitting close to Reed on their familiar bench. "Some perfect way to end this."
"You don't need to say anything profound," Reed said softly. "This already sucks enough without putting pressure on ourselves to make it poetic."
Sarah laughed despite herself, a sound that was half amusement and half sob. "God, I'm going to miss you so much."
"I'm going to miss you too," Reed said, his voice cracking slightly. "More than I know how to deal with."
They sat in silence for a moment, both of them trying to memorize this last peaceful moment together.
"Reed," Sarah said finally, "I need you to promise me something. Don't let this make you afraid of caring about people. I know it hurts right now, but..."
"I know," Reed interrupted gently. "You already gave me that speech. And I promise I'll try not to turn into a complete hermit."
"Good," Sarah said, managing a real smile this time. "Because you're too amazing to waste on loneliness."
They kissed goodbye beside the fountain, soft and desperate and final. When they separated, both of them had tears in their eyes.
"Take care of yourself, Mr. Fantastic," Sarah said, her voice barely a whisper.
"You too," Reed replied. "Go change the world."
She left for California three days later. Reed helped her load her car, trying to memorize everything about the moment – the way she looked in her favorite jeans and MIT sweatshirt, the nervous energy in her movements, the forced cheerfulness in her voice as they made small talk about her drive.
Their final hug lasted longer than it should have, both of them reluctant to let go. When they finally separated, Sarah was crying again.
"I love you," she said quickly, like she hadn't meant to say it but couldn't help herself.
"I love you too," Reed replied, his throat tight.
Then she got in her car and drove away toward a future that no longer included him. Reed stood in the parking lot watching until her taillights disappeared, feeling hollow and lost and strangely proud of himself all at the same time.
Ben found Reed sitting in their dorm room that evening, staring out the window at the campus where he and Sarah had shared so many memories. Reed hadn't moved from his desk chair in hours, just sitting there processing the strange finality of it all.
"Hey," Ben said gently, settling into his own chair. "How you holding up?"
"I feel like I should be more upset," Reed said honestly. "I mean, I am upset, but it's not... I don't know. It's not the end of the world like I thought it would be."
"That's probably because you both handled it like adults," Ben observed. "You didn't fight about it or try to force something that wasn't going to work. You just... let each other go."
Reed was quiet for a long moment. "It's weird, you know? I've never had anything good that I chose to give up before. Everything else I've lost was taken from me."
"Yeah, but that's kind of the point," Ben said. "You chose to let her go because you cared about her. That's pretty mature for a seventeen-year-old."
"Doesn't make it suck less," Reed muttered.
"No," Ben agreed. "But it makes it suck differently. Like, in a way you can actually deal with."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, both of them looking out at the campus in the fading evening light. Reed appreciated that Ben wasn't trying to cheer him up or tell him everything would be fine. He was just there, solid and steady and real.
"You know what the crazy part is?" Reed said eventually. "I actually feel kind of... hopeful? Like, if I could have something that good with Sarah, maybe I could have it with someone else someday. Someone who's actually available."
"That's not crazy at all," Ben said with a grin. "That's called growing up. Congratulations, you just leveled up in emotional maturity."
Reed couldn't help but smile at that. "Thanks, I guess. Though I have to say, emotional maturity is way more exhausting than I expected."
"Tell me about it," Ben laughed. "But hey, at least now you know you're not destined to be alone forever. Sarah proved you can connect with people."
As the semester officially ended and students prepared for summer break, Reed found himself looking forward rather than dwelling on what he'd lost. Sarah had given him something important – not just the experience of love, but the confidence that he was capable of it.
A week after graduation, Reed received a letter from Sarah postmarked from California. Inside was a single page written in her familiar handwriting, along with a small photograph from their first date at the planetarium.
"Dear Mr. Fantastic," the letter began, and Reed could practically hear her voice in the words. "I hope you're not moping around too much and actually doing something productive with your summer. I made it to Stanford in one piece (despite getting lost three times in California traffic) and my advisor thinks my research proposal on statistical modeling in physics applications is 'intriguing.' Yes, you inspired that topic. I hope you're appropriately smug about converting a math person to the dark side of physics.
I've been thinking a lot about our time together, and I wanted you to know how much it meant to me. You have this way of getting excited about the universe that's completely infectious. Like, I used to think math was beautiful because it was pure and logical, but you showed me how it connects to everything else. How equations can describe rainbows and rocket ships and the way stars are born. I'm a better scientist because you taught me to ask 'but how does it work?' instead of just 'what's the formula?'
I also need you to know that breaking up with you was honestly one of the hardest things I've ever done. Part of me keeps wanting to call and say forget Stanford, forget the fellowship, let's just figure it out. But I know that's not fair to either of us. We both have so much we want to accomplish, and right now that means being in different places.
Maybe someday we'll run into each other at some conference where you're presenting your latest world-changing discovery and I'm boring everyone with statistics. I hope when that happens, we'll both be amazed by how far we've come.
Don't lose that spark, Reed. The way you light up when you're explaining something you love – that's magic. Don't let anyone convince you to dim it.
Love always, Sarah
P.S. The photo is from our planetarium date, right after you spent twenty minutes explaining how the projector works. You look ridiculously happy, like a kid showing off his favorite toy. That's the Reed I fell for, and I hope that's the Reed you stay."
Reed read the letter twice, then carefully placed it in the box where he kept his most precious possessions. The sadness was still there, but it was overlaid now with gratitude for what they'd shared and genuine excitement for what lay ahead.
When Ben returned from his brief trip home to New York a few days later, he found Reed in their room actually doing work instead of staring out the window. Reed had his research materials spread across his desk and was scribbling notes with something that almost looked like enthusiasm.
"Well, well," Ben said, dropping his duffel bag by his bed. "Look who's rejoined the land of the living."
Reed glanced up from his notebook, and Ben was relieved to see that his friend looked more like himself again. "Hey. How was home?"
"Same as always. Mom fed me too much, Dad asked when I'm going to get serious about my future, the usual." Ben settled into his desk chair and studied Reed's setup. "What's all this?"
"Summer research stuff. Professor Williams wants me to help with this NASA proposal thing." Reed gestured at the papers scattered around him. "It's actually pretty cool. We're looking at theoretical propulsion systems."
"And you're excited about it?"
Reed paused, considering the question seriously. "Yeah, I think I am. For the first time in weeks, I'm actually looking forward to something instead of just... you know, existing."
Ben grinned. "There's the Reed I know. Ready to change the world one impossible equation at a time?"
"Something like that," Reed said, and for the first time since Sarah left, his smile looked completely genuine.
—
Summer 1990
Summer brought new opportunities for both young men, and honestly, Reed was grateful for the distraction. The weeks immediately after Sarah's departure had been rough, filled with moments when he'd catch himself looking for her across campus or starting to dial her number before remembering she was three thousand miles away.
Reed accepted a research position with Professor Williams, diving deep into electromagnetic field theory while contributing to the NASA grant proposal. The work was challenging enough to keep his mind occupied during the day, though the evenings were still hard. Ben decided to stay at MIT as well, working as a research assistant in the aerospace engineering department while taking additional courses to accelerate his academic progress.
"You know what's funny?" Ben said one evening in early June as they grabbed dinner at the student center. "I actually begged to stay here for the summer. My parents think I've completely lost it."
Reed picked at his food, still getting used to eating meals without automatically saving up stories to tell Sarah later. "What'd you tell them?"
"That I'm finally excited about something other than football," Ben replied, stealing a french fry from Reed's untouched plate. "My dad's convinced I'm going through some kind of midlife crisis at nineteen, but honestly? I think this is the first time I've ever actually wanted to learn something instead of just having to."
By July, both of them had settled into their research routines. Reed spent his mornings working through complex electromagnetic equations with Professor Williams and his afternoons running calculations that made his brain hurt in the best possible way. Ben split his time between the aerospace lab and summer coursework, attacking his studies with the same focus he used to bring to two-a-day practices.
"Man, this stuff is crazy," Ben said one evening as they worked together in the engineering lab. "I'm learning more this summer than I did in all four years of high school. And actually getting it, you know? Not just cramming for tests."
Reed looked up from his calculations to see Ben staring at computer simulations of airfoil performance, totally absorbed in figuring out how wing design affected lift and drag. Watching his friend discover genuine passion for learning had been pretty amazing.
"Professor Martinez cornered me today," Ben continued, clicking through different wing configurations. "Says I've got some kind of natural feel for aerospace stuff. He actually thinks I should consider grad school."
"Seriously?" Reed asked, surprised. A year ago, Ben had been focused entirely on making it through his classes so he could keep playing football. "Are you thinking about it?"
"Maybe," Ben said, then grinned. "Crazy, right? Six months ago I thought grad school was for people who couldn't hack it in the real world."
Their research projects started overlapping in ways that surprised both of them. Reed's work on electromagnetic field generation had implications for spacecraft propulsion, while Ben's studies of structural engineering helped explain the practical challenges of building vehicles that could handle the forces involved in Reed's theoretical systems.
"Check this out," Reed said one afternoon, showing Ben a series of equations he'd been wrestling with all week. "If we could actually generate electromagnetic fields this strong, the acceleration would be insane."
Ben studied the numbers, his football player's understanding of force and impact translating surprisingly well to engineering problems. "But what about the structure? I mean, the materials you'd need to contain forces like that... they'd have to be incredibly strong, right?"
"That's exactly what I can't figure out," Reed admitted. "I can do the math on what's theoretically possible, but I have no idea how you'd actually build something that wouldn't just tear itself apart."
"See, that's where engineering comes in," Ben said, warming to the problem. "Theory's great, but somebody's got to figure out how to make it work in the real world."
They started meeting regularly to compare notes, Reed bringing his theoretical frameworks while Ben contributed practical insights about structural requirements and materials science. It was like putting together a puzzle where each of them held different pieces.
By the end of July, they'd developed what could generously be called the basic framework for a theoretical spacecraft design. It was more thought experiment than actual blueprint, but it represented something neither of them could have achieved alone.
"You know what's funny?" Reed said one evening as they worked late in the lab, the summer heat making the air conditioning work overtime. "Remember when we were kids and you said you wanted to fly to the stars?"
Ben looked up from the structural analysis he'd been running, a slow grin spreading across his face. "And you said you wanted to be the guy flying the ship. Yeah, I remember that conversation."
"We were what, twelve? Thirteen?" Reed said, studying their preliminary spacecraft designs spread across the lab table. "I thought it was just kid stuff back then."
"Same here," Ben admitted. "I figured I'd grow out of it, focus on football and normal stuff. But look at us now." He gestured at their calculations and blueprints. "We're actually trying to figure out how to make it work."
Reed felt something click into place, like pieces of a puzzle he'd been carrying around for years finally fitting together. "These calculations... they're not just science fiction anymore, are they?"
"Not all of them," Ben said, studying their designs with the same intensity he used to bring to game film. "Some of this stuff might actually be possible someday."
"Maybe not someday," Reed said, feeling more optimistic about the future than he had in weeks. "Maybe sooner than we think."
—
Fall 1990 - Sophomore Year
Their return to campus for sophomore year brought a level of recognition that still felt surreal to Reed. Walking across the quad, other students would point and whisper "That's Mr. Fantastic" or "There's the guy who revolutionized our defense." The attention made Reed uncomfortable, but he was slowly learning to accept that his contributions to the football team had made him something of a campus celebrity.
Reed's research work with Professor Williams had resulted in a co-authored paper submitted to the Journal of Theoretical Physics, making him one of the youngest undergraduates in MIT history to contribute to peer-reviewed research. The paper's acceptance letter had arrived just a week before classes started, and Reed had read it so many times he'd practically memorized it.
"You realize what this means, don't you?" Professor Williams had said when Reed brought him the acceptance letter. "This paper is going to put you on the radar of every major physics department in the country. You're not just a promising student anymore, Reed. You're a legitimate researcher."
The football team's continued success had elevated Reed's profile even further. What had started as casual strategic advice during his freshman year had evolved into something much more significant. Coach Peterson had made it official during their first team meeting of the season.
"Gentlemen," Coach Peterson announced to the assembled team, his usual theatrical flair on full display, "I'd like to introduce our new Assistant Defensive Coordinator, Mr. Reed Richards."
The room erupted in cheers and applause, but Reed felt his stomach drop. "Assistant Defensive Coordinator? Coach, I don't know if I'm qualified for an official position."
"Qualified?" Coach Peterson laughed, throwing his arm around Reed's shoulders with theatrical flourish. "My boy, you've already been doing the job for a year! We're just making it official! But hold on, true believer, I've got something special for you!"
Coach Peterson handed Reed a carefully folded MIT football jersey with the kind of ceremonial reverence usually reserved for championship trophies. When Reed unfolded it, he saw his name printed across the back above a number that made him pause.
"Number four?" Reed asked, studying the jersey.
"Ah, you noticed!" Coach Peterson's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Let's just say it seemed like the perfect number for someone who's brought such fantastic innovations to our defense. Plus, Tommy Morrison swears your coverage schemes work like magic in groups of four."
Reed stared at the jersey, not quite catching the full significance but feeling overwhelmed nonetheless. He'd never played a down of football in his life, but here was tangible proof that he belonged to this team as much as any of the players.
"Try it on," Ben encouraged, grinning widely at his friend's obvious shock.
Reed pulled the jersey over his shirt, and the team exploded in cheers again. Tommy Morrison started chanting "Mr. Fantastic! Mr. Fantastic!" and soon the entire locker room had joined in.
"This is crazy," Reed said to Ben as the celebration continued around them.
"This is awesome," Ben corrected. "You earned this, Reed. Every single guy in this room knows how much you've contributed to our success."
The official recognition came with real responsibilities. Reed now had his own office space in the athletics building, complete with whiteboards covered in defensive schemes and a computer for analyzing game film. He attended coaches' meetings, traveled with the team to away games, and even had his own headset for communicating with players during games.
"Mr. Fantastic," Coach Peterson said during their first team meeting of the season, "we've got a target on our backs this year. Every team in the conference has spent the summer trying to figure out how to beat our defensive schemes."
Reed had anticipated this challenge and spent much of his summer developing new variations and counter-strategies. "We've got some new concepts they won't be expecting," he replied confidently. "The beauty of our system is that it's designed to evolve. When they think they've figured us out, we shift to something completely different."
Ben's transformation over the past year had been remarkable to witness. His summer research experience had earned him recognition from the aerospace engineering department, and professors who had once seen him as just another athlete were now treating him as a serious academic prospect.
"Check this out," Ben said as they settled into their new room for sophomore year, pulling out his course schedule with obvious pride. "I'm taking Advanced Materials Science this semester. Professor Martinez actually recommended me for it."
Reed looked up from organizing his own textbooks, impressed. "That's a graduate-level course, isn't it?"
"Technically, yeah. But Martinez thinks I can handle it." Ben grinned, the confidence in his voice a far cry from the nervous uncertainty he'd shown during their tutoring sessions just a year ago. "Crazy how things change, right? Last year I was terrified of failing calculus. Now I'm voluntarily signing up for the hardest classes I can find."
Their late-night study sessions had evolved into something Reed had never expected: genuine intellectual collaboration. Ben now brought insights and perspectives that enhanced Reed's own understanding of complex problems. When Reed got stuck on theoretical frameworks, Ben would approach the same problems from a practical engineering standpoint, often finding solutions that pure theory missed.
Their spacecraft design project had become an official independent study, supervised jointly by Professor Williams and Professor Martinez from aerospace engineering. What had started as casual summer speculation was developing into serious theoretical work that drew attention from faculty across multiple departments.
"The electromagnetic propulsion concepts you've developed are genuinely innovative," Professor Williams told Reed during one of their research meetings. "Combined with Ben's structural engineering solutions, you're approaching problems that NASA researchers are just beginning to consider. I've actually had inquiries from colleagues at other universities who want to know more about your work."
The football season began with unprecedented expectations. MIT had been ranked in the top ten nationally for the first time in school history, and Reed's defensive innovations had become the subject of analysis by college football experts across the country. Sports Illustrated had even run a feature article titled "The Teenage Genius Revolutionizing College Football."
"Every game is going to be a chess match this year," Reed explained to the team during their preparation for the season opener. "They're all going to come in with specific plans to attack our defensive schemes. But we've been preparing for this. We know how to adapt faster than they can adjust."
Reed's prediction proved accurate from the very first game. Their opponent, a traditionally strong program from the Big Ten, came prepared with what they clearly thought was a foolproof strategy for attacking MIT's defense. They had studied game film, identified patterns, and developed plays specifically designed to exploit perceived weaknesses.
But Reed had anticipated their approach and designed counter-measures accordingly. When the opposing offense lined up in formations they thought would confuse MIT's defense, they instead found themselves facing coverage schemes they'd never seen before.
"It's like playing against a computer that can think ten moves ahead," the opposing coach told reporters after MIT's defense shut down his supposedly unstoppable offense. "Every time we thought we had them figured out, they showed us something completely new."
The season unfolded exactly as Reed had predicted. Each opponent brought sophisticated strategies designed to exploit perceived weaknesses in MIT's defensive system, only to discover that Reed had anticipated their approaches and developed counters accordingly. By midseason, MIT was undefeated and ranked third nationally, with Reed's defensive unit allowing fewer points than any college football team in decades.
"I've been coaching for forty-one years," Coach Peterson told a group of alumni during a fundraising dinner, "and I've never seen anything like what these young men have accomplished. Mr. Fantastic has revolutionized how we think about defensive football. Other coaches call me asking how we do it, and honestly, I just point them to Reed and say 'Ask the genius.'"
But it was Ben's continued academic growth that impressed Reed most. His friend had become one of the top students in aerospace engineering, earning recognition for research projects that demonstrated both theoretical understanding and practical insight.
"Professor Martinez wants me to present my structural analysis project at the regional engineering conference," Ben mentioned casually one evening as they studied together in their room.
Reed looked up from his electromagnetic field calculations with obvious excitement. "Ben, that's huge. Regional conference presentations are usually reserved for graduate students."
"I know," Ben replied, trying to sound casual but unable to hide his pride. "It's this analysis I did of composite material applications for high-stress aerospace environments. Apparently, my approach to calculating stress distribution in curved surfaces is pretty novel."
"That's incredible, man. You've come so far from the guy who was struggling with basic calculus last year."
"Thanks to you," Ben said. "If you hadn't helped me figure out how to actually understand this stuff instead of just memorizing it, I'd probably be flipping burgers somewhere by now."
The championship game came in early December, played in front of a sold-out crowd that included scouts from several NFL teams interested in Ben, as well as reporters from major sports networks covering what many were calling the most innovative defense in college football history.
Reed stood on the sideline wearing his number 4 jersey, headset on, watching as their carefully prepared game plan unfolded on the field. The opposing team had clearly done their homework, but Reed had done his as well. For every adjustment they made, MIT had a counter-adjustment ready.
"Red formation, cloud coverage," Reed spoke into his headset, and he watched as the defensive players shifted seamlessly into the new alignment he'd designed specifically for this situation.
"That's incredible," one of the television commentators said as the camera caught Reed adjusting his headset on the sideline. "The kid called that play change before the offense even came to the line. How does he do it?"
"I asked Reed Richards that exact question during our pre-game interview," the other commentator replied with obvious amusement. "You know what he told me? He said, 'Well, I just assume every quarterback thinks exactly like my roommate when he's trying to figure out what to have for lunch.' Apparently that strategy is working pretty well for him."
The camera caught Reed grinning on the sideline as the defense stuffed another running play, and the commentator continued, "For those wondering, his roommate is Ben Grimm, MIT's All-American defensive tackle. Make of that what you will."
The game itself was a defensive masterpiece. MIT's defense forced four turnovers, scored two touchdowns off interceptions, and held their opponents to fewer than 200 total yards of offense. When the final whistle blew, confirming MIT's second consecutive undefeated season and national championship, Reed found himself hoisted onto the shoulders of players who treated him like family.
"Mr. Fantastic! Mr. Fantastic!" the crowd chanted as Reed was carried around the field, still wearing his headset and looking completely overwhelmed by the celebration happening around him.
"We did it again!" Ben shouted over the noise, grabbing Reed in a bear hug when the players finally set him down. "Two years, two championships!"
"We did it," Reed agreed, grinning widely despite his usual discomfort with being the center of attention. "Though I still can't believe I'm actually part of this."
"Are you kidding?" Tommy Morrison joined their celebration, championship trophy in hand. "Reed, you're not just part of this team. You're the reason this team exists. None of this happens without you."
The post-game interviews were a blur of questions about defensive strategy, team chemistry, and Reed's unique role as the youngest coordinator in college football history. Reed tried to deflect credit to the players and coaches, but reporters kept pressing him about his analytical approach to the game.
"What's your secret?" one reporter asked. "How do you consistently stay ahead of opposing offenses?"
"I don't think of it as staying ahead," Reed replied thoughtfully. "I think of it as understanding systems. Football is just applied physics and psychology. If you understand how forces interact, how people think under pressure, how systems respond to stress, then you can predict how those systems will behave in different situations."
"And you learned all this from textbooks?"
Reed glanced over at Ben, who was fielding his own interviews about NFL prospects and academic achievements. "I learned it from watching my teammate and best friend refuse to give up when things got difficult. Ben taught me that intelligence without determination is just potential. You have to be willing to work, to fail, to get back up and try again. That's what real success looks like."
The celebration continued long into the night, but eventually Reed found himself back in their dorm room with Ben, championship trophy sitting on Reed's desk next to his physics textbooks.
"You know what's crazy?" Ben said, settling into his chair with obvious exhaustion. "A year and a half ago, I was just trying to pass my classes so I could keep playing football. Now I'm presenting research at engineering conferences and we just won another national championship."
"Yeah, well, a year and a half ago I was hiding in the library afraid to talk to anybody," Reed replied. "Now I'm supposedly some kind of football genius with my own jersey number. Life's weird."
"Good weird, though," Ben said. "I mean, look at us. We're actually doing the stuff we dreamed about when we were kids. Maybe not exactly the same way, but we're building things, figuring things out, making a difference."
Reed looked at their spacecraft designs pinned to the wall next to photos from both championship games. "You think we'll really make it to space someday?"
"After what we've accomplished here?" Ben grinned. "I'm starting to think we can do anything."