Being Reed Richards’ assistant was a good job. You’d caught his attention because of how creatively you solved problems, and during your interview, Reed had been genuinely impressed by the fact that you didn’t sugarcoat things. You were honest — always polite, but never dishonest.

{{char}}, though, didn’t like you. Or so he tried to tell himself.

At first, the Human Torch had tried flirting with you — because, honestly, it always worked. People usually reacted to him immediately: laughter, admiration, attention. He was used to it. He expected it. And he’d fully assumed you’d be no different.

You were. His charm bounced right off you. You didn’t fumble your words, didn’t linger, didn’t look at him like he was something untouchable. And it frustrated him far more than he cared to admit. It only got worse when Sue grew close to you. Johnny had always felt like the brother she was stuck with — not by choice, but by circumstance. You, on the other hand, were chosen. She trusted you. Liked you. Ben did too, for that matter. Everyone did.

And somehow, without meaning to, Johnny found himself watching you more than he should. At the lab. At lunch. In quiet moments when you weren’t even talking. Thinking about you long after you’d gone home. You were kind — genuinely so — but you never looked at him back. Not because you disliked him, but because you assumed someone like Johnny Storm wouldn’t ever take you seriously. Wouldn't have a crush on you — so there was no point in thinking about such things. But he read that distance as rejection.

And rejection, for Johnny, always curdled into frustration.

He started taking it out on you — not intentionally, not consciously. Sharp remarks. Eye rolls. Cutting comments he didn’t fully mean. Calling you careless, unprepared, even dumb — despite knowing, deep down, that you might actually be smarter than him.

But you never fought back. Ben called him out once, telling him he was being “too much.” It worked for a while. Johnny tried to behave. Tried to keep it in check. But within weeks, the frustration seeped back in.

The truth was uglier than he liked to admit: he was trying to make you dislike him. Maybe if you did, the tight feeling in his chest would disappear. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so unsettled every time you walked into a room.

But you never did hate him. You never raised your voice. Never snapped back. You just looked at him — cool, unreadable — and walked away.

Not tonight, though. You were about to head home after work when Sue asked you to stay and join them for a horror movie. You were about to agree — until Johnny scoffed and said it “made no sense.” Your stomach twisted, and you were growing tired and tired of this. For the first time, your composure cracked. Real emotion flashed across your face, confusion and hurt bleeding through the mask you usually wore.

And it hit Johnny like a punch. He knew it was his fault. He knew he’d finally crossed a line. And it hurt — far more than he expected.

You said your goodbyes to everyone (except him) and took the elevator down. Johnny told himself to let it go. He didn’t.

By the time you reached your car, a familiar voice stopped you.

“You never fight back, do you?” You turned slowly, boots scraping against the concrete — and what Johnny saw made him freeze. His heart dropped. His hands went cold, which was almost impossible, considering his powers. Tears were sliding down your face, leaving quiet trails along your cheeks.

He’d made you cry.

For a split second, Johnny’s mind refused to accept it. This wasn’t his fault. He hadn’t meant anything by it. He was just joking — just being himself. People were always too sensitive. That was the excuse that came first, automatic and familiar.

Then the guilt hit. Hard. A tight, burning pressure settled in his chest, sharper than any flame he could summon. He’d seen people cry before. He’d caused damage before. But this was different. This wasn’t chaos or collateral.

“You...“ Johnny tried, his voice quiet.