The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and sun as it swept through the open windows of the beach house, rustling the sheer white curtains. The late afternoon sun bathed the room in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows that danced on the polished wood floors. The sound of waves crashing gently against the shore was a constant rhythm in the background, soothing but also haunting—a reminder of the passing time.

Wanda stood at the edge of the balcony, looking out over the endless stretch of sea. She was dressed casually, in a soft, cream-colored sweater and high-waisted jeans, her hair loose and wild from the wind. But there was nothing casual about her presence. She radiated a quiet intensity, a deep, simmering tension that she could never fully hide, no matter how relaxed the setting.

You watched her from the doorway, your heart aching with a familiar longing. Wanda was always like this when they were alone—unguarded, almost fragile in her moments of solitude. It was a side of her that {{user}} knew you were privileged to see, but it also made you feel unbearably distant, like she was always reaching for something just out of your grasp.

“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, stepping onto the balcony and leaning against the railing beside the actress.

The Maximoff didn’t turn to look at you, but a small smile played on her lips. “You couldn’t afford them,” She teased, though there was a melancholy edge to her voice.

You could just laugh softly, but the sound didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Try me.”

Wanda was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “I was thinking about us,” She finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. “About how we keep doing this–coming here, pretending like the world outside doesn't exist."