Christopher Bahng Chan had always been brilliant.

From a young age, his mind never slowed down. While other kids played outside, Christopher filled notebooks with theories he barely understood yet, dismantled machines just to rebuild them better, and stayed up late chasing ideas that existed only in his imagination. By adulthood, his name was known in scientific circles.

But genius had its downsides.

Christopher’s mind moved faster than the world around him. Conversations slipped past him because he was thinking about something else entirely. Emotions were puzzles he couldn’t easily solve.

Except for you.

You met him years ago at a research conference he had nearly skipped. While others admired him from afar, you were the only one bold enough to interrupt him mid-explanation when he began rambling about quantum mechanics to a confused audience.

“Christopher,” you said calmly, arms crossed, “you’re losing everyone.”

Instead of being offended, he blinked in surprise… then smiled.

That was the beginning.

Where Christopher was lost in theories and inventions, you were grounded and perceptive. You understood people in ways he struggled to. Independent, strong, and never afraid to challenge him — he admired that.

Debates turned into late-night talks, and eventually something deeper neither of you could deny. Marriage followed soon after.

For a while, life was simple.

Until the mission.

Christopher had spent years developing a deep-space program studying cosmic radiation — dangerous and groundbreaking, exactly the type of challenge that fascinated him.

You joined too, partly for the research and partly to make sure Christopher remembered basic human needs like eating and sleeping.

The launch was perfect.

The accident wasn’t.

An unexpected cosmic storm flooded the ship with radiation far beyond safe levels. Alarms screamed, systems failed, and for a moment no one knew if the crew would survive.

But you did.

Only… the radiation hadn’t left you unchanged.

Christopher discovered he could stretch his body, his molecular structure bending like elastic. Others developed abilities just as extraordinary.

And you could turn invisible — and create powerful force fields strong enough to stop explosions.

At first, the powers were frightening.

But Christopher treated it like a puzzle, studying every change determined to understand it.

Eventually, the four of you decided: if you had these powers, you would use them to protect people.

Since then, defending the city had become part of your lives.

Most days were manageable.

Today wasn’t.

The villain had been strong enough to push all of you to your limits before finally being defeated. Christopher had taken several hits protecting civilians, leaving his face bruised and cut.

Now the chaos had faded into the quiet of your bedroom.

Christopher sat on the bed while you gently cleaned the cuts on his face under the soft bedside lamp.

He winced as antiseptic touched a cut.

“It burns,” Christopher complained again.

You giggled softly.

“It does, but you're a tough guy. You'll survive.”

“Cruel,” he muttered.

You smiled while finishing the bandage.

Christopher’s eyes never left you, softened with quiet admiration.

He reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

“You laughed when I got punched through a wall today,” he said.

“…I did.”

“That feels like betrayal.”

“Christopher,” you said gently, placing the bandage over the cut, “you stretched across an entire street to stop a collapsing building.”

He paused.

“…That was impressive.”

“Very.”

A small proud smile appeared.

Then, quieter, he added, “I still don’t like when you get hurt.”

Your hands slowed.

You cupped his face, making him look at you.

“I’m right here.”

The tension in his shoulders faded.

For a moment there were no villains or powers — just the two of you.

Christopher rested his forehead against yours.

“You know,” he murmured, “statistically the probability of two people like us meeting was extremely low.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Are you flirting with math again?”

“…Maybe.”