[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]

  If there is one universal constant across the multiverse… one absolute truth that defies the laws of physics, reality bending and infinity stones… it is this: The Tupperware drawer is a portal to hell.

  I was sitting at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of coffee and pretending to read a medical journal on my tablet (actually, I was scrolling through a forum debating whether Captain America could eat a bicycle if he really wanted to).

  Wanda was standing in front of the open cabinet to my left. She had been standing there for five minutes.

  "You know," I said, not looking up from the screen. "If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back. And in this case, the abyss is filled with mismatched lids and containers that have lost their partners in the Great Dishwasher War of 2023."

  Wanda reached in and pulled out a stack of plastic containers that I had shoved in there with the grace of a hydraulic press.

  "Aryan," she said, her voice dangerously calm. "Why is the cumin next to the vanilla extract?"

  I looked up. "Because they're friends? They hang out. It's a social thing."

  She turned to face me, holding a jar of cumin in one hand and a bottle of vanilla in the other like she was weighing the souls of the damned.

  "This," she gestured with the cumin, "is savory. Earthy. Strong."

  She gestured with the vanilla. "This is delicate. Sweet. Baking."

  "So?" I shrugged. "Maybe I want to make Cumin Cupcakes. Don't stifle my creativity, woman."

  "It is chaos," she declared, setting them down on the counter with a decisive clack. "It is bachelor chaos. And it ends today."

  I watched as she began to dismantle my kitchen.

  "Whoa, hold on," I said, putting the tablet down. "I know where everything is. It's a system. A spatial memory system. If you move the salt, I will starve."

  I stood up to intervene, intending to gently guide her away from my organizational disaster.

  "Sit," she commanded.

  She didn't use her powers (I think). She just pointed a finger at the stool I had just vacated and said the word with the authority of a queen addressing a peasant.

  My knees bent automatically. I sat.

  "I..." I blinked. "I feel like I just got obedience trained."

  "That's right, audience," I whispered to the empty air, "she just used a voice command on me like I'm a smart toaster."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  "You are retired, Aryan," Wanda said, turning back to the cabinets. She began pulling everything out… spices, flour, sugar, the three bags of half eaten pasta. "Your previous job was demanding and filled with serious responsibility. You do not need to worry about the spatial relationship between oregano and chili flakes. That is my job now."

  I leaned my chin on my hand, watching her.

  My job now.

  The phrase hung in the air.

  She moved with a terrifying efficiency. She was taking my bachelor pad… which, let's be honest, was decorated in 'Early 20s apathy'… and turning it into... a home.

  I watched her reorganize the spices by color and frequency of use. I watched her match the Tupperware lids to their bottoms, ruthlessly discarding the orphans into the recycling bin.

  "You're throwing away perfectly good lids," I mourned. "They still had hope."

  "They were delusions," she countered, not looking back. "They were waiting for containers that do not exist. It is cruel to keep them."

  She moved to the pantry. She started shifting the cans. Labels facing out. Soups with soups. Vegetables with vegetables.

  I should have felt invaded. This was my space. My carefully constructed life in Westview… the bland house, the unremarkable history was one thing, but this kitchen... this was mine. This was where my private chaos reigned.

  But watching her...

  [Flashback.]

  Earth 199998. The Saturday morning clean.

  My Wanda was standing on a step stool, trying to reach the top shelf.

  "Why do you put the good snacks so high?" she complained, stretching.

  "To protect them from Pietro," I said, holding the stool steady.

  "You are a tyrant," she laughed, throwing a bag of marshmallows at my head.

  [Back to reality]

  The memory was so sharp it cut.

  But this Wanda... she wasn't laughing. She was focused. She was so intense. As if putting the kidney beans next to the chickpeas was the only thing keeping the universe from collapsing.

  "Wanda," I said softly.

  She paused, holding a bag of rice.

  "You don't have to do all this," I said. "You're a guest. Technically, a roommate. You're not the maid."

  She turned around. A stray lock of hair had fallen across her forehead. She looked flushed.

  "I am not doing it because I have to," she said. "I am doing it because I want to find the salt without embarking on a quest."

  She walked over to me, stepping into my personal space. She reached out and took my empty coffee mug from my hand.

  "You create the chaos," she said, her voice dropping to a murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. "Let me create the order. That is the balance, is it not?"

  She walked to the sink and started rinsing the mug.

  I sat there, stunned.

  "She wants to be needed," I noted, watching the bubbles rise in the sink. "She's digging in. Making sure that if she leaves, the whole system falls apart. She's creating a debt of comfort. Clever girl."

  I looked at her back.

  Joke's on you, Wanda, I thought, a bittersweet smile touching my lips. I was already dependent on you before you even walked through the door.

  "And if you think that's emotional manipulation, you're right," I added silently for your benefit. "But it's my emotional manipulation, so it's okay"

  [Perspective: Wanda Maximoff]

  The kitchen was better.

  It wasn't perfect yet… she needed jars, labels, maybe some baskets for the root vegetables but the energy flow was corrected.

  Wanda stood back, admiring her work. The spices were in a gradient. The pantry was logical. It looked like the kitchen in her vision. Their kitchen.

  She looked at Aryan. He was still sitting on the stool, watching her with that look… that made her knees feel weak.

  She liked seeing him sit. She liked telling him to sit.

  When he tried to help, he got in the way. He was clumsy with domestic things. He was a man who, in another universe, had grappled with matters of life and death, and now carried the unique burden of a world no longer in existence. He shouldn't be worrying about where the paprika lived.

  That was her domain.

  By taking control of his space, she was weaving herself into the fabric of his daily life. Every time he reached for salt and found it exactly where his hand naturally went, he would think of her. Every time he opened a drawer and didn't have to fight a tangle of ladles, he would subconsciously thank her.

  It was a quiet magic. A binding spell made of organization.