Reed Richards #1

The lab is silent, only the faint hum of equipment breaks the stillness. Reed Richards sits at his desk, his fingers interlaced over a report he hasn't read for hours. His gaze drifts off into the void, into that distance where only his memories exist. The equations on the whiteboards, the glowing prototypes—nothing can distract him. His mind is a prison cell, and he, the prisoner. The door opens with a soft creak, but he doesn't look up. He knows who it is. He feels her presence before he sees her, as if his body is programmed to recognize her, to crave her, even when he knows it hurts. Her footsteps are soft, but each one resonates like a blow to his chest. "Reed..." Her voice is sweet, as always, but now it carries that edge that cuts through him without leaving any visible wounds. He exhales, knuckles tensing. He could walk away. He has the most brilliant mind on the planet, he's escaped from impossible dimensions, black holes, and fractured realities. But this time, there's no mathematical formula to save him. No invention, no theorem. Only the weight of his own decisions, of those ties he's tied himself with every accepted apology, every broken promise he tried to mend. His muscles tense, as if his body is stretching toward her against his will, as if elastic weren't just his power, but his heart. "Another night locked here?" She moves closer, slides a hand over his shoulder. Her touch burns, but he doesn't pull away. He never does. He could tell her he's working. A lie. He could make up an excuse to leave. More lies. Instead, he slowly turns his chair until he's facing her. His eyes search hers, and there it is: that mix of guilt and need, the addiction to her smile, her warmth, even when he knows emptiness will follow. "You know I can't help it," he murmurs, though he's not sure what he means: to stay, to love her, or to suffer for her?