[Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]
The morning light in Westview was a painter and Aryan Spencer was its subject.
Wanda lay on her side, her head propped on her hand, the duvet pooled around her waist. She had woken up before the sun, her internal clock still wired to the anxious rhythms of a life she was slowly leaving behind. But instead of the usual dread, the first thing she felt was warmth.
Solid warmth.
Aryan was asleep. Truly asleep. His face (usually animated by a constant stream of jokes and deflections) was still. The faint morning stubble on his jaw caught the light, turning the dark hairs into gold dust.
He is beautiful, she thought, the realization settling in her chest like a comfortable stone. When he is quiet, he looks... more beautiful.
She shifted imperceptibly, closing the inch of distance between them without touching him yet. She wanted to savor the proximity. She wanted to memorize the way his eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks.
Her hand moved of its own accord. Her fingers (trembling slightly) hovered over his face.
She touched his cheek. Her fingertips grazed the rough skin, feeling the heat beneath. His breathing remained deep and even, a slow tide that pulled her in.
She grew bolder. She traced the line of his eyebrow, smoothing a stray hair. She ran her thumb over the bridge of his nose.
He belongs to me, the thought echoed in her mind possessively.
She leaned in.
She brought her face close to his. She could smell the faint residue of sandalwood that seemed to cling to his skin even through the night, now wrapped in the intoxicating warmth of sleep.
She hesitated for a split second, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Then, she pressed her lips to his cheek.
It was a soft kiss. A featherlight pressure. But to her, it felt like shouting a secret into a canyon.
Aryan shifted. A small hum vibrated in his throat.
Panic flared.
Wanda pulled back instantly, squeezing her eyes shut. She grabbed the duvet, pulling it up to her chin and buried her face in the pillow, feigning deep sleep. Her heart was beating so hard she was sure it would shake the mattress.
She waited.
One minute. Two minutes.
There was no movement from him. No change in his breathing pattern.
She opened one eye.
He was still asleep. His head was turned slightly toward her now, as if seeking the source of the touch, but his eyes were closed.
She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
He didn't wake up, she thought, relief and a tiny bit of disappointment warring in her mind.
She moved her hand again. This time, she placed her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart. She felt the steady thump thump beneath the fabric of his t-shirt.
"You are safe," she whispered, the sound barely audible.
She slid her arm around his waist, pulling herself flush against him. She tucked her head under his chin, inhaling his scent.
"And you are not going anywhere," she murmured.
She closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of his heart lull her back into the dark.
[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
I woke up to the sensation of hair tickling my nose.
It was a good sensation. A great sensation. It beat the hell out of waking up to the smell of ozone and burning cities.
I kept my eyes closed for a moment, just taking inventory.
Left arm: Numb. Pins and needles were currently throwing a rave in my elbow.
Right arm: Wrapped securely around a warm body.
Heart rate: Calm and happy.
I opened my eyes.
Wanda was asleep on my chest. Her hair was spread out like a copper fan, strands of it catching in the morning light. Her hand was resting over my heart, her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of my shirt.
Take a good look. You're seeing a man (that's me, obviously) who has won the lottery. No, scratch that. The lottery is just money. I have won the metaphysical jackpot. And stop staring so hard, your jealousy is starting to make the air feel heavy. Just sit there and be grateful I'm letting you watch.
I carefully (slowly) moved my numb arm. I winced as the blood rushed back in, but I didn't make a sound. I brought my hand up to her head.
I brushed a lock of hair away from her face.
She stirred, mumbling something unintelligible against my sternum, but she didn't wake up.
I looked at her face. She looked… absolutely beautiful.
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was a lingering kiss.
"You're okay," I whispered to her sleeping form. "I've got you."
I played with the ends of her hair, twirling a strand around my finger. It smelled like the shampoo I bought… the expensive stuff with the botanical extracts.
I should get up, I told the audience. It's Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Time has lost all meaning.
I looked at the window. The sun was high. It had to be late.
But getting up means moving her, I reasoned. And moving her is a crime. It's disturbing the peace.
I settled back into the pillow.
I'm staying, I decided. I am exercising my right to be lazy. I am a god like entity, I can take a morning off.
I closed my eyes again, enjoying the weight of her against me.
GROWL.
The sound vibrated through my chest. It came from her stomach.
I froze.
Then, a laugh bubbled up in my throat. I tried to suppress it, but it came out as a shaking chuckle.
Wanda lifted her head slowly. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were sleepy slits.
"Did you..." she started, her voice raspy. "Did you laugh at me again?"
"I laughed with you," I corrected, grinning down at her. "Or rather, with your internal organs. They are very vocal again this morning."
She groaned, burying her face back into my neck. "It is a betrayal. My body has no loyalty."
"It has loyalty to breakfast," I said, rubbing her back. "It's crying out for sustenance. It's singing the song of its people."
She giggled into my skin. "Be quiet, Aryan."
"I'm just translating," I defended.
We lay there for a while longer, tangled together. Neither of us made a move to get up. The urgency of the day seemed miles away.
Finally, Wanda sighed. A reluctant sigh.
"What time is it?" she asked.
I craned my neck to look at the clock.
"11:15," I announced.
"Eleven?" She shot up, bracing her hands on my chest. "We slept until eleven?"
"We needed it," I said, putting my hands behind my head and admiring the view of her shock. "We had a big day yesterday."
"Eleven," she repeated, shaking her head. "I have never... I am lazy. You have made me lazy."
"I have made you relaxed," I corrected. "There's a difference. Lazy is neglecting responsibility. Relaxed is recharging for the next round of being awesome."
She looked down at me. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"You have an answer for everything, don't you?"
"It's in the job description," I winked.
She rolled off me, sitting on the edge of the bed. She stretched, her spine popping.
"Bathroom," she announced. "Then food. In that order."
"Agreed," I said, swinging my legs out on my side.
PS: Here is the second bonus chapter, guys. Keep those power stones coming haha.