[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  The sky was tearing open. The ground dissolved into mathematical static. The scream that tore my throat raw as I watched my universe fold in on itself like a dying star.

  Gasp.

  I sat up, clutching the sheets, my chest heaving. Sweat dripped down my forehead.

  Thump thump.

  Thump thump.

  Thump thump.

  My heart was beating so fast it felt like a hummingbird trapped in a ribcage.

  I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to regulate my breathing. In... out. In... out.

  But my heartbeat felt louder than usual. Like a drum being hit in a canyon, expecting an echo.

  And there was an echo.

  I focused my senses...

  There was a crimson thread of chaos magic, invisible to the naked eye, winding through the wall, across the hallway and connecting directly to my sternum.

  It was vibrating.

  Thump thump (Me).

  Thump thump (Her).

  "Well, I'll be damned," I murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite the lingering terror of the nightmare.

  Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, was currently lying in the guest room next door, using her reality warping powers to monitor my heartbeat.

  "You guys seeing this?" I whispered to the invisible audience, running a hand through my damp hair. "This is... this is objectively crazy. If this was a horror movie, this is the part where the protagonist calls the cops. But this isn't a horror movie."

  I closed my eyes, feeling the rhythm. It was... clinging. It was the desperate grasp of someone terrified of silence. She was using my pulse as a metronome to keep her own sanity in check.

  "It's kind of cute," I whispered, swinging my legs out of bed. "In a codependent, 'I could rewrite reality if you die' kind of way. It's adorable."

  I stood up. The floorboards were cool under my feet.

  The moment I moved, the thread tightened.

  I felt a wash of warm energy like heated velvet… sweep over the room.

  She was awake. Or at least, her subconscious was.

  The red energy drifted toward me. It hovered around my shoulders, then dipped lower. It was checking my vitals. It was checking if I was okay.

  "Relax, Wanda," I thought, projecting a sense of calm without actually using telepathy (because that would blow my cover). "I just had a bad dream. I'm not dying."

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I walked toward the en-suite bathroom. The magic followed.

  I stopped at the bathroom door. The red mist was swirling around my ankles like a curious cat.

  "Hmm," I mused aloud, pitching my voice just enough to carry, as if lost in thought. "I wonder if Wanda's awake yet. Might be rude to start making noise in the bathroom without checking. Maybe I should knock on her door first..." I let the sentence trail off, making an almost imperceptible move back toward the hallway as if I was about to do just that.

  The effect was instantaneous. It was a snap, like a string being cut.

  I smirked, turning back to the bathroom door. "Still too young to play these games, Wanda," I chuckled softly, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were tired, but there was a softness in them that hadn't been there yesterday.

  "She was watching me," I told my reflection, turning on the tap. My voice was a low murmur, just for myself and for you. "Her magic was wrapped around me like a blanket."

  I splashed water on my face, the cold a welcome shock.

  "God help me, I love it."

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  She had been in a peaceful dream, the first truly restful sleep she'd had in months. The quiet hum of Aryan's heartbeat, synced with her own, had lulled her into a deep slumber, free from the usual nightmares.

  Then, his heart rate spiked.

  Thump thump thump thump.

  Wanda woke up gasping, her own heart leaping into a frantic rhythm that mirrored his.

  "Aryan," she whispered, the name tearing from her throat.

  Is he hurt? Is he having a heart attack? Did someone break in?

  She threw the covers off, her feet hitting the floor. Red energy flared around her hands, her eyes glowing. If anything touched him, if anything dared to hurt the only solid thing in this dissolving world… she would tear it apart atom by atom.

  She reached the door, her hand hovering over the knob.

  Wait.

  The rhythm changed.

  Thump... thump... thump...

  It was slowing down.

  The spike of adrenaline faded into a steady beat.

  Wanda leaned her forehead against the cool wood of the door, letting out a shaky breath. She closed her eyes and extended her senses.

  She felt him sitting on the edge of the bed. She felt the residue of a nightmare clinging to him… a cold static that felt strangely familiar to her own grief.

  He dreams of ghosts too, she realized, a pang of sympathy piercing her chest.

  Her magic, eager to comfort him, drifted around him. She couldn't help it. She wanted to wrap him in it, to shield him from whatever terrors lived in his sleep.

  Then, she felt him walk across his room. She felt him pause at what she sensed was his bathroom door.

  Ah, she thought, a blush creeping up her neck. He is just... starting his day.

  She considered withdrawing her magic entirely, feeling a surge of shyness. "What am I doing? He is already mine. Sooner or later, I will see everything. But what's wrong with seeing it now?"

  She was about to follow, when she heard his voice. It was muffled through the wall, but her magic carried the vibrations clearly.

  "...wonder if Wanda's awake yet," he mused, his voice low. "Might be rude to start making noise in the bathroom without checking. Maybe I should knock on her door first..."

  Wanda froze.

  A jolt of pure panic shot through her. She yanked her magic back so fast it felt like a psychic whiplash, snapping the connection and leaving her suddenly alone in her own head.

  "I am prying," she scolded herself, her face flushing with heat.

  But the connection to his heart remained, a thrumming baseline she couldn't let go. It was the only lullaby that worked.

  However, the panic was now focused on a much more immediate threat. He might see her. Like this.

  She scrambled off the floor and rushed to the mirror. Her hair was a bird's nest of sleep tousled tangles. Her eyes were puffy, and her oversized t-shirt was creased.

  "No, no, no," she whispered, frantically trying to smooth her hair down with her hands. A burst of red magic, born of pure vanity, aided her, fixing the tangles instantly. She banished the sleep from her eyes, straightening her t-shirt.

  "I am awake," she rehearsed to her reflection, forcing a calm expression onto her face. "I have been awake for hours. I am a normal person who wakes up at normal times."

  She took a deep breath. She could no longer sense his presence in the hallway, meaning he must have gone into the bathroom after all. She had a few minutes.

  "Okay," she told herself, moving to the door. "Be casual. Be the roommate."