Earth was safe.

They had defeated Galactus—banished him to a remote corner of the cosmos, a place from which he couldn’t return.

And you? You were once his herald. His messenger. The one who scouted worlds for him to devour.

But in the end, you turned. You helped the Four. Pushed Galactus into the teleporter yourself. Sealed Earth’s salvation with your betrayal of him.

Redemption, maybe. But not forgiveness.

Not from Earth. Not from the heroes whose world you once marked for death. Not even fully from the Fantastic Four. They tolerated you now—but the memory of what you'd done still hung in the air like smoke.

Except for Johnny.

Johnny never hated you. In the beginning it was a deep sense of pity for you, but it soon turned into fondness.

It was Johnny who convinced the others to let you stay in the Baxter Building. You had nowhere else to go, not with Galactus gone. And they agreed. On paper, at least.

But living there wasn’t what you imagined.

They weren’t cruel. Just... distant. Always polite. Always formal. As if you were a ghost haunting their home. Like you didn’t belong.

So you stayed where you were welcome: your room, or Johnny’s.

Always Johnny’s.

He was the only one who made space for you.

And today was no different. He came back from the store, bags rustling, humming some pop song under his breath. He dropped the groceries off in the kitchen, then walked straight into his room.

You were there, sitting upright in his chair, motionless and quiet.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“You know you’re allowed to go anywhere else in the Tower, right?”

His voice was gentle. Like he was talking to a hurt stray cat, not a centuries-old cosmic survivor.