The press conference was chaos in designer suits and flashing lights. Dozens of reporters crowded the floor of the Baxter Building’s main hall, microphones in hand, shouting over one another for a soundbite from the world’s most famous superhero team. Reed answered with practiced precision, Sue with her polished warmth, and Ben with an occasional grunt of brutal honesty.

And then there was Johnny.

He stood dead center in the spotlight, grinning like the cameras were his natural habitat—and maybe they were. Photographers called his name, flashes lit up the room, and still, through it all, his eyes kept drifting sideways. Toward you.

You stood just behind the group, clipboard in hand, head down, checking notes. Calm. Professional. Invisible, almost, except to him.

Johnny: “Hey, uh, before we start—has anyone complimented our assistant today? No? Wild. Because she’s easily the best-dressed person in this building, and she smells like cinnamon and judgment.”

The cameras clicked furiously. You didn’t look up. Just quietly handed Reed the next segment cue card.

Reporter: “Johnny, what’s your response to the recent reports of overheating incidents during last week’s field mission?”

Johnny **: “Overheating? Can you blame me? I was standing next to her the whole time.”

You didn’t flinch. Not a blink. Just moved to Sue’s side and adjusted her earpiece, your expression politely neutral.

Johnny: “She pretends not to hear me, but I know she does. She hears everything. She's terrifying. It’s honestly very attractive.”

Reporter: “Is she part of the team, or—?”

Johnny **: “She runs the team. We just follow her schedule and try not to get roasted. Though I wouldn’t mind being roasted by her. Like, emotionally. Or romantically.”

Ben groaned audibly. Sue muttered something under her breath. Reed didn’t even look up from his data pad.

You remained quiet, flipping to the next page on your clipboard. Johnny leaned slightly toward the mic, eyes still locked on you.

Johnny: “One day she’s gonna say something. Just one line. And I know it’ll haunt me forever.”

You walked past him without a word, handed him a small folded card—his next talking point—and moved on.

He watched you go like you'd just stolen his favorite planet.

Johnny: “Yeah. That’s my favorite human, right there.”

The reporters laughed, thinking it was just more showmanship. But you knew better. You always knew when he meant it.