Wanda stepped out into the cool night air, her bare arms folded loosely across her chest as a ward against the sudden chill. She spotted him almost immediately at the far end of the garden, a solitary figure etched against the darkness. Aryan sat on a cold stone bench, a steaming cup of black coffee held loosely in his hand. Framed by the sleeping trees, he looked less like a billionaire CEO and more like a statue of a forgotten god contemplating his lost worshippers.
He didn't startle when she approached, his senses having registered her presence the moment she stepped onto the terrace. "You don't have to look like it's going to attack you," he said, his voice a low note in the quiet. "It's just a bench."
She glanced at the ornate stonework, then back at him, a hint of her old humor returning. "In my experience," she replied, "things that look harmless usually aren't."
"Fair point," he conceded, a smile touching his lips. "But this one's only crime is being uniquely uncomfortable."
She hesitated for a beat, then sat down slowly at the opposite end of the bench, as if testing the fabric of reality itself. When the world didn't end, she allowed herself to relax a fraction.
Aryan's posture softened. "See? Still alive."
For a second, she tried to maintain the guarded persona that had kept her alive for so long. But a small laugh slipped out. She instinctively covered her mouth with her hand, as if she hadn't meant to let the sound escape into the wild.
"I forgot what that sounds like," she admitted quietly, her hand dropping back into her lap.
"Laughing?" he asked.
"Being normal." She looked up at the star dusted sky, then back at him. "You always talk like this after rescuing strangers from war zones?"
"No," Aryan said with a disarming honesty. "Usually I'm worse."
She laughed again, a softer but more genuine sound this time.
"I was just thinking," she said, nodding toward the massive house behind them. "Your mansion is way too big. It's actually a safety hazard. What if you wake up in the middle of the night and you're thirsty? It would take you like five minutes just to walk to the kitchen. You'd probably pass out from dehydration halfway there."
He chuckled. "I've considered installing fountains in the hallways, but the plumbing is a nightmare." He took a sip of his coffee and looked at her. "So, I just keep a water bottle in my room. Groundbreaking stuff, I know."
Wanda rolled her eyes, a small smile stuck on her face. "A water bottle. Wow. Here I thought you'd have a butler stationed every ten feet with a silver platter."
"Maybe next week," he joked. He set his cup down and turned toward her a bit more. "But really, are you feeling comfortable here?"
She shrugged. "It's okay. I just wasn't able to sleep. It's a new environment, you know? It takes a bit to adjust to a new place."
Watching him in the quiet of the garden, she felt that same familiar feeling again. A flutter kicked in her chest, that spark of energy that made her want to smile for no reason. 'Is this a crush?' she wondered. She just really liked being around him. It was a warm feeling that made the whole night seem a lot better.
She pushed the thought aside and looked him in the eye, finally asking the thing that had been on her mind. "Why did you help us? Truly?"
Aryan looked up at the stars. "Because I've seen a future where you help me."
She turned to face him fully, her brow furrowing. "You're saying this like it's already decided."
"It isn't decided," he said quietly. "That's why I intervened. I saved you because the future where I didn't... was a wound I couldn't allow to happen."
"And what am I to you in that future?"
Aryan went silent. The steam from his coffee curled between them. Finally, he spoke, choosing his word with surgical care. "An anchor."
Wanda didn't know why that word made her chest ache, as if it were both a title and a burden.
"That is such a mystery man's answer." She stood up, stretching her legs. "Fine, I'll drop it for now. But you have to promise me you'll actually explain everything later. No more vague stuff."
Aryan stood up too, his height blocking out the moonlight as he nodded. "Okay, I promise."
Wanda gave him a satisfied smile. "Good. I'm holding you to that." She turned and headed back toward the house, walking through the garden with a bit of a bounce in her step.
———-
Pietro stood by the bedroom window, his forehead pressed against the cold glass with such intensity it was a miracle it didn't shatter.
Down in the garden, the moonlight was doing that cinematic silver thing that made everything look more important than it was. And there they were. Aryan was sitting on a stone bench, looking like one of those creepy street performers who pretends to be a statue for money. And Wanda was walking toward him with a slow grace he hadn't seen in years. Since when does she walk like that?
He watched her sit beside him. Not too close, but definitely not "stay away from my sister, you mysterious billionaire" far. There was a gap between them, but it was a conversational gap.
They aren't laughing. They aren't even touching, Pietro noted, his eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. They're just… talking quietly "That's worse," he hissed to the empty room. If they were fighting, he could intervene. If they were laughing, he could join in and ruin the joke with his mere presence. But quiet talking? Quiet talking was where the real damage happened.
He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling like a puzzle piece that had been stepped on by a heavy toddler.
Are they in love? The thought hit him with the force of a freight train. He recoiled from the glass as if burned. No. Impossible. She just met him.
Or… a horrifying thought surfaced. Are they afraid of me?
He thought back to his behavior over the last few hours. He had been there. Hovering like a particularly muscular and overprotective fruit fly. Maybe he was the reason they were whispering. Maybe he was the villain in this bizarre rom-com.
He leaned his head back against the pane with a hollow thud.
I should say no, he decided. No strange men. No mysterious billionaires. It was a solid 'No.'
But then he looked at Wanda again. She looked… calm. Not the 'I'm holding this ruined building together with my willpower' calm, but something softer. Something he hadn't seen since before the first shell fell. Like a person who had actually remembered to breathe for the first time in years.
When was the last time she looked like that? Before the war? Before hunger? Before I started treating every man who looked at her for more than two seconds like a target for practice?
He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat. Do they want my approval? Is that why they're being so weirdly polite and distant?
The idea that he was the "Grumpy Father" figure in this scenario was deeply unsettling. He felt like he had arrived at a party three hours late, only to find out it wasn't a party, it was a wedding, and he was the only one not wearing a suit.
How much does she care about him? It suggested that there was a part of Wanda's heart that he no longer had a VIP pass for. She was trusting Aryan with the things she used to whisper only to him in the dark.
Have I been neglecting her? he wondered, a sudden wave of guilt washing over him. I've been so busy being the shield, the runner, the guy who catches the bullets… maybe I forgot to be the brother who actually listens.
He looked down one last time. Wanda laughed. It was a soft little sound that carried on the wind and stabbed Pietro right in his overprotective soul.
I'll watch, he decided, straightening his shirt with unnecessary aggression. I'll be the shadow in the hallway. The silent judge in the kitchen.
And if he's actually a good man… Pietro's jaw worked, grinding his teeth. Then I'll have to accept that my little sister doesn't need me to be her entire universe anymore.
The thought was more terrifying than a Stark missile.