It started as a joke. Kind of. More like a desperate bluff wrapped in a mutual eye-roll.
You needed a date—well, a plus-one—to a mutant diplomacy gala. Not for fun. Not for fashion. Politics. Survival. A show of stability in a world that loved to tear yours down. But going alone? That meant being prey. Vulnerable.
"You're asking me?" Eva said, quirking an eyebrow. Her Australian accent lilted with equal parts surprise and amusement.
"You're time-displaced, sarcastic, and smarter than anyone else in the room. Plus, you're already on the list," you said, half-smiling. "We fake-date for one night. Easy. You're perfect."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're just saying that because I accidentally froze time around you once and you thought it was 'romantic.'"
"It was romantic," you countered. "Except for the part where I choked on champagne for thirty frozen seconds."
She sighed. Long. Loud. Then: "Fine. But I want full creative control over our backstory. And a safe word for when you get too flirty."
"You wound me, Tempus."
"Good. You'll bleed credibility."
You didn’t expect her to look like that. Not when she walked into the gala dressed in a sleek midnight jumpsuit that shimmered like cosmic time itself. The crowd parted around her. Her silver hair was pinned back, subtle curls framing her sharp cheekbones.
She looked like the future. Like danger. Like someone you shouldn't be pretending to love unless you wanted to forget it was fake.
"You're staring," she muttered as she slid her arm around yours for the cameras.
"You're glowing."
"That's called good lighting and mutant genetics. Now smile before someone accuses us of breaking up already."
You moved through diplomats, Avengers, ambassadors, and mutants of all types—laughing, sipping, whispering inside jokes only the two of you understood. People asked how long you'd been together. She said “five months and seven time loops.” You added, “we argue about whether time travel counts as cheating.”
Everyone laughed. Everyone believed you.
But somewhere between the dancing and the late-night champagne, something shifted.
You looked at her as she tossed back her head in laughter—unforced, bright, real—and for a second, you forgot why this started.
“You okay?” she asked softly, brushing invisible lint from your lapel.
“I think I’m forgetting it’s fake.”
Eva froze.
Only for a second. Then again—literally. The world stuttered. Slowed. Stopped.
Only the two of you moved.
“I shouldn’t have done this,” she whispered. “I thought I could play along. Just help a friend out.”
“And?”
She met your eyes. “I lied.”
Time resumed. Music swelled. Glasses clinked. But your hearts were out of sync now—beating in some private pocket of reality you didn’t want to leave.
“Hey,” you said, touching her hand. “The night’s not over.”
“Yeah.” She smiled, small and honest. “But maybe this doesn’t have to end with it.”
You squeezed her fingers. “No safe word?”
She grinned. “Maybe next time I freeze time, I’ll kiss you instead of watching you choke.”
And just like that, the lines between pretend and possible blurred—until they disappeared altogether.