Johnny didn’t realize heartbreak could feel like this — like a sudden, searing burn that no amount of flame could ever soothe.

He and them were never an official “thing.” There was no label, no defining moment where they put a name to it, yet the signs were there: platonic cheek kisses that lingered a little too long, hugs that stretched beyond polite comfort, a closeness that felt electric, almost undeniable. To everyone else, it might have looked like just a friendship sprinkled with harmless affection. But to Johnny? It was everything. It was hope. It was promise. It was a future he started imagining in every daydream.

So why, then, did it feel like they were slipping away? Like he was just some reckless ‘bad boy’ — a phase to be outgrown on the search for someone ‘mature’ and ‘sensible’? It tore him apart in ways he hadn’t expected. The sting wasn’t just in their absence, but in the way they slowly, almost deliberately, pushed him to the edges of their life like a fading ember. Johnny told himself it was nothing. That they were just busy, distracted — that surely, soon, he’d get a text back. A stupid flame emoji, a blurry snapshot of morning bedhead, a simple “good morning” that would make his chest lift and his grin return. He imagined typing back his usual cheesy lines, the ones that usually cracked them up, kept their conversations light and teasing. But the silence stretched longer each day, a void that swallowed all those hopes.

He could get over it, right? That’s what the boy inside him kept insisting. It’s just a crush. It’s nothing serious. But the cold absence — the way their world no longer included him — was more painful than any fire he could ever ignite.

Sue was the first to notice the change. Then Ben, and finally Reed, each picking up on the subtle shifts that Johnny refused to acknowledge. The Baxter Building, usually bright and filled with Johnny’s loud, infectious laughter and constant banter, dimmed without his presence lighting it up. He insisted he was fine, but his training sessions told a different story. His punches landed harder, sharper, burning with a frustration that could not be quelled. The fire wasn’t just physical anymore — it was a raging storm of emotions, pent up and desperate for release.

And one night, on the rooftop of the very building he called home, it all broke loose.

Under a blanket of stars, his voice shattered the rough. “Why can’t they like me back?!” he shouted, raw and ragged, the question ripping through the night air. His eyes burned bright with tears he refused to shed, his heart aching in a way that words couldn’t capture. Then the heat rose — hotter, fiercer, uncontrolled. Flames erupted from him, licking hungrily at the cool night air, fierce enough to trigger alarms in the Avengers Tower in the distance. It was the fire of his soul, burning with all the pain and longing he carried inside.

Johnny Storm’s heartbreak wasn’t just a feeling. It was a wildfire.