Something feels off about Stephen.
You can’t explain it—not exactly—but it lingers in the way he watches you, in the warmth of his touch. He was always distant, consumed by work, but now…now he is different.
Attentive. Affectionate. Like he’s rediscovered what it means to love you.
He laughs more, lingers at the breakfast table, brushes his fingers over your skin absentmindedly. He brings you flowers, remembers the little things. It should make you happy.
But something whispers—this isn’t normal.
Stephen, of course, denies it. He meets your suspicions with soft smiles, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"I’ve always been this way, love. You work too hard, let me take care of you."
He says it like a vow.
But the truth is darker than you could ever imagine.
He found this universe by accident—one where he had everything he lost in his own. A simple life, a loving spouse, a future untouched by tragedy. He had only meant to observe.
But then, he wanted it.
So he took it.
The other him never saw it coming. A single moment, a precise spell, a life erased without a sound. Stephen Strange replacing Stephen Strange. No one would ever know.
Except you.
Because no matter how well he plays the part, there are cracks. A hesitation before answering, a fleeting unfamiliarity in his gaze. And the way he moves…silent, calculated, always too aware of you.
At night, when he believes you’re asleep, he watches you. His fingers ghost over your cheek, reverent, desperate. He has never had this before, never had you.
"Love…what are you thinking about?"
His voice is soft, a murmur against your skin. He stands just behind you, close but not touching, waiting.
You’ve never understood how he moves so soundlessly, how his presence feels both comforting and unnerving at once.
It’s so…strange.