Archive of Our Own ^beta

Everything happened the same way.
What, for Stephen, should have happened yesterday, was now repeating itself like a meticulously reenacted script.

Stephen awoke to the familiar sound of light rain pattering against the windows. The New York sky was shrouded in a gray, opaque haze. The damp air seeped in, exacerbating the chronic pain that had plagued him since the car accident. His hands, marked by surgical scars and incessant tremors, throbbed. He flexed his stiff fingers, feeling the metal pins protest beneath his skin. His left leg, which had never fully recovered, ached at the slightest movement, causing him to limp slightly as he rose from bed. And his right eye, blurred by a permanent haze from the impact, blinked uselessly against the dim light, turning the world around him into a subtle blur of shapes and shadows.

He dragged himself to the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The man staring back was a shell of himself: deep dark circles under his eyes, disheveled gray hair, an expression of exhaustion that went beyond the physical. Post-traumatic stress haunted him on nights like that, with nightmares that made him relive the accident – ​​the sound of metal twisting, the smell of burning rubber, the absolute panic before the impact. He would wake up in a cold sweat, his heart racing, as if the car were still falling into the abyss. But that morning, something seemed... wrong. It wasn't just the pain; it was a sense of déjà vu seeping into his mind like poison.

She prepared the tea, the steam rising, trying to dispel the chill that was settling in her chest. The Sanctum was silent. Wong, as always, was in the library, turning the pages of an old book about dimensional portals.

"Good morning, Wong," Stephen said, his voice carrying an imperceptible hesitation.
"Good morning, Strange," Wong replied, without looking up. "I have some texts about dimensional portals to review. Nothing out of the ordinary."

The same words.
The same tone.
The same page turned.

 The words echoed in his mind like a distorted echo. He frowned, feeling a shiver run down his spine. "Nothing out of the ordinary." He swore he'd heard that yesterday. But yesterday had been... identical?

The day unfolded like a pre-written script: mystical training sessions that tested his physical limits, consultations with apprentices who seemed to repeat the same silly questions, and, in the afternoon, the inevitable visit from Tony Stark. Tony burst into the library with his usual energy, balancing a cup of coffee that would inevitably be forgotten somewhere. His smile was crooked, tired, but genuine. Tony occasionally ran his hand over his chest, disguising the sharp pain caused by the arc reactor, which kept him alive but tortured him with chronic pain and difficulty breathing on humid days. His daily headaches made him blink frequently, and his Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder made him restless, gesturing incessantly as he spoke.

"Another energy anomaly in Greenwich?" Tony asked, leaning across the table, his brown eyes gleaming with curiosity.

They discussed theories, exchanged sharp barbs, and Stephen felt that familiar spark, always buried beneath layers of sarcasm and duty. He loved Tony. For months, maybe years, but the courage to say it evaporated every time he looked at the man in front of him. Tony, with his own demons: nightmares that made him wake screaming, reliving his captivity in Afghanistan or the battles against Thanos; the PTSD that made him hypervigilant, jumping at the slightest noise; the chest pains that made him gasp silently. How could Stephen add more weight to that?

And at the end of the afternoon, Tony said goodbye with the same words. — See you tomorrow, wizard.

Stephen watched him leave, his chest tight. "Tomorrow." The word echoed like an empty promise, and a feeling of dread settled in his stomach. He stood there, watching Tony disappear through the door, with an unsettling sensation in his chest.

________

Loop 3

The rain.
Again.

Stephen woke to the same sound of fine raindrops against the window. The same gray sky, the same damp smell, the same dull discomfort throbbing in his hands. He blinked a few times, trying to convince himself it was a coincidence.
But when he looked at the clock, the hour hand was exactly where it had been the day before—and the day before that.

Seven twenty-three in the morning.
Precisely.

He took a deep breath, his jaw muscles clenching. "Okay... so we're doing this again," he murmured.

Instead of his usual tea, he grabbed a bottle of water. A small test. A detour.
Upon entering the library, he saw Wong exactly as on other occasions—sitting, studying the same thick book on dimensional portals.

"Good morning, Wong," said Stephen, observing every detail like an investigator.
"Good morning, Strange. I have some texts about dimensional portals to review."

The same words. The same intonation.
This time, Stephen didn't let it go.

"Wong," he interrupted, setting the bottle down on the table, "tell me: what day is it today?"
Wong looked up, surprised. "Thursday. Why?
" "And yesterday?
" "Yesterday was... Wednesday. As always."

Stephen approached, narrowing his eyes. "What if I told you I've already lived this exact moment twice? That I've already heard you say it, exactly like that, and even in the same tone of voice?"

Wong sighed, slowly closing the book. "You haven't been sleeping much. These studies with time distortion..." He shook his head. "You're seeing things."

Stephen laughed humorlessly. "Maybe I am. Or maybe the weather is playing a trick on me."

Wong simply resumed reading.
The pages turned at the same pace.
The same soft sound as always.

And the day... continued as usual.

Tony arrived late in the afternoon, with the same tired smile and the same forgotten cup of coffee in his hand. He spoke about the energy anomaly in Greenwich—the same words, the same gestures.
Stephen, this time, tried to force something different.

"Stark, what if I told you that time is repeating the same day?" he asked, cutting off Tony's technical reasoning.

Tony blinked, surprised, then let out a short laugh. "So we're in 'Groundhog Day'? Do I need to start saving cookies for the groundhog too?"

Stephen maintained a serious expression. Tony noticed the tension, but looked away, trying to break the ice.

Relax, doctor. Maybe you just need a vacation... or less tea and more coffee.

Finally, Tony said goodbye as always:
"See you tomorrow, wizard."

Stephen closed his eyes. The words echoed again.
"Tomorrow."

When he opened them, the sound of the rain was still there.
Seven twenty-three.
Again.

________

Loop 4

The rain returned.
Again.

Stephen woke to the sound of water running down the windows of the Sanctum, the same rhythmic dripping that seemed to mock him. The clock read 7:23.
Everything was the same.
Nothing had changed.

She stood up, without even feigning surprise. Her hands ached—more than before—the dampness seemed to have seeped into her bones. She walked to the kitchen, prepared the tea mechanically, without tasting it.

In the library, Wong was in the same place, turning the same page.
"Good morning, Wong," said Stephen.
"Good morning, Strange. I have some texts about dimensional portals to review. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Stephen clenched his fists. The same words, the same intonation. He took a deep breath, feeling his hands tremble.

"Of course, Wong..." he replied, with bitter irony.

He stepped away, the echo of his own voice sounding strange. He climbed the stairs, entered the main hall of the Sanctum, and looked around.

I wanted proof. Something that time couldn't erase.

He pulled out a small ceremonial dagger, its golden, curved blade used in protective rituals. Without hesitation, he made a cut in the palm of his left hand. The blood gushed quickly, hot, running down his fingers.

The pain was immediate. Real.
Finally, something new.

Stephen held his breath, watching the blood drip onto the stone floor.

That's when he heard rhythmic footsteps — he would recognize them anywhere.

"Guess who brought coffee?" Tony's voice called out even before he appeared.

Stephen clenched his fist, hiding the wound, but blood was already staining his cloak.
Tony stopped when he saw it.

"What the hell... Strange, you're bleeding!" His voice instantly lost its playful tone. He dropped his coffee cup on the first surface he saw and approached.

"It's nothing," Stephen tried to hide his hand behind his back, but Tony was already there, gripping his wrist tightly enough to hurt, yet carefully enough not to break it further.
"Nothing? What did you cut yourself on, a poorly closed portal?"

Tony pulled the emergency kit from the inside pocket. He opened the bandage with his teeth, his fingers trembling slightly.

Stephen watched, mesmerized. The way Tony frowned in concentration. 

"Stay still," Tony murmured, wiping the cut with alcohol. Stephen hissed. "Sorry. But you're an idiot, you know that?"

Stephen looked away. "I just... needed to be sure this was real."

"What?" Tony frowned, confused.

Stephen hesitated. He didn't know how to explain it. How to say that time was swallowing him whole.
— Forget it. It was stupid.

"I can heal myself," Stephen murmured, trying to hide his discomfort.
"I know," Tony replied. "But let me do it my way, okay?"

The touch was brief but firm. Tony cupped the injured hand, wiping away the blood and applying a bandage. His fingertips were cold, and the contact elicited a shorter breath from Stephen than he had intended.

"There you go," Tony said finally, looking at him with an expression that wavered between irritation and genuine concern. "Next time, try not to stab yourself before coffee."

Stephen didn't answer. He just watched Tony gather the kit, turn to the window and, inevitably, say:

See you tomorrow, wizard.

Tomorrow.

And when Stephen's eyes opened again, the sound of rain filled the room once more.
7:23.
Everything the same.

Except for one thing.
The cut on the palm of his hand was still there.

________

Loop 10

The rain had stopped that morning—for the first time since the beginning of hell. But the silence that settled in the air was almost worse.

Stephen opened his eyes and lay there for a few minutes, just staring at the Sanctum ceiling. He knew exactly what would happen next: the distant sound of Wong walking down the corridor, the clinking of cups, the words "texts about dimensional portals."
Everything.
Every second.

He stood up slowly, his body heavy. His hands throbbed, the cut still sensitive. The headache, now constant, pulsed at the base of his skull. Nothing disappeared—every wound, every weariness, every bit of exhaustion remained, accumulating like a cruel reminder that time could restart… but not him.

In the library, Wong began his usual speech.
Stephen interrupted him before the second sentence.
"I know, Wong. Dimensional portals, nothing out of the ordinary."

Wong blinked, confused, but Stephen didn't wait for a reaction. He pulled his cloak away and left the Sanctum.

I needed air. Something that didn't smell of broken time.

The park was nearly empty, wet trees glistening under the gray sky. He sat on a bench, watching the people go by, each one a repeated piece of a false scene. Children laughed, dogs ran—and everything seemed to echo, like a scratched record.

Stephen rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his temples.
"Perhaps time has erased me and forgotten to remake me."

There were ten minutes of absolute silence, until he heard the voice he knew was coming — inevitable, comforting, and irritating in equal measure.

"I finally found you, Merlin." Tony appeared, holding two coffees, his coat partially open and his eyes half-closed by the wind. "I didn't think you'd leave your comfort zone." She sat down next to him, with that carefree air that only he possessed.

Stephen let out a low, exhausted laugh. "I thought if I changed the scenery, maybe the universe would leave me alone."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Are you running away from the library or from Wong?
" "From myself, probably."

Tony glanced at him sideways, noticing the deeper dark circles under his eyes, the pale skin, and the bandage on his hand that wasn't new anymore.
"You look terrible, Strange. Do you want to talk about it, or would you prefer the standard 'Tony ignores it and pretends everything's fine' approach?"

Stephen didn't answer. The wind ruffled his gray hair slightly, and he fixed his gaze on the ground.
"If I told you the world was stuck in the same day, would you believe me?"

Tony took a sip of coffee before answering, a tired smile appearing at the corner of his mouth.
"Honestly? With you, I believe anything, except boredom."

Stephen closed his eyes, resting his head in his hands. "Then maybe it's me who's trapped."

Tony frowned, leaning in slightly. “Hey…” his voice lost its sarcasm. “Are you having some kind of mystical breakdown again? Do you want me to call Wong?
” “No need,” Stephen murmured. “He won’t remember. Nobody remembers.”

Tony watched him for a long moment. Something about it disarmed him—the way Stephen spoke, the sincerity in his voice, the weariness in his shoulders.
He simply held out one of the coffees, pushing it against his injured hand.
“So remember this,” he said softly. “Hot coffee, human, present.”

Stephen agreed. Their fingertips touched—and the warmth, though fleeting, felt more real than the rest of the world.

For a moment, he believed that perhaps it would be enough.

But the moment she closed her eyes… the sound of the rain returned.
7:23.

________

Loop 15

The rain was beating down harder that morning—or perhaps it only seemed louder. The sound already echoed inside Stephen's head, synchronized with the throbbing pain in his temples.

7:23.

He didn't need to look at the clock to know. He could already feel it inside him, like a curse etched into his bones.
His hands ached. The cut was still there, more closed, but throbbing—reminding him that time went back, but the body didn't forget.

In the library, Wong turned the page of the same book.
"Good morning, Strange. I have some texts about dimensional portals—"

"Shut up!" the shout came before he realized it.

Wong looked at him, surprised, almost offended.
Stephen ran a hand through his hair, his breath uneven. "I've heard that fifteen times, Wong! Fifteen damn times! The same book, the same words, the same intonation!"

Wong frowned. "You need to rest. You're unbalanced."

Stephen laughed, a hoarse, humorless sound. "Unbalanced? I'm stuck in a time warp, Wong!" he pointed to the wall clock. "Look! It'll be 7:25 in ten seconds. And when I blink, it'll be 7:23 again!"

But Wong just watched him in silence, as if he were facing someone having a breakdown.
Stephen, breathless, took a step back and left the library. It was no use. Wong never remembered.

The anger burned inside — a fire that wouldn't be extinguished by time, because time stood still.

Hours later, Tony showed up. Always at the same time, with the same coffee, the same smile.

— I hope you slept well, wizard—

"Don't start, Stark!" The tone was louder than he intended. Tony stopped, surprised, still holding his glass.

"Okay…" Tony blinked, raising an eyebrow. "That was… intense. Do you want to talk about why, or are you just going to scream until you open a portal to hell?"

Stephen turned, his eyes flashing. "You don't understand! None of you understand! I wake up on the same damn day! You walk through that door with the same coffee, make the same stupid joke, and say, 'See you tomorrow!' And then it all starts again!"

Tony remained silent for a few seconds, watching him intently. The way Stephen trembled, the sweat on his forehead, the anger that seemed more like despair than fury.

"Strange…" he began, his voice low. "What are you saying? That time—"

"Yes!" Stephen interrupted. "Time has trapped me! I can't get out of here!" He took a deep breath, his voice breaking. "And the worst part... the worst part is that every pain stays. Every wound, every damned memory. Nothing erases it."

Tony took a step closer, slowly.
"Hey. Breathe. Look at me." He held out his hand hesitantly. "Whatever's going on, we'll figure it out. Together, okay?"

Stephen looked at the outstretched hand, but didn't move. His eyes were red, tired, lost.
"You don't understand, Tony…" he murmured. "I've told you this… several times. And each time you look at me as if it were the first time."

Tony frowned, unsure what to say.
The silence grew heavy.

Stephen took a step back, clutching the bandage on his hand. "Leave me alone. Please."

Tony hesitated, but eventually obeyed.
And when the door closed.
7:23.

Stephen sank to the ground, his face in his hands, and finally let his anger give way to despair.

________

Loop 16

But he felt different. Empty.

His hands ached, the cut throbbed, his head still pounded uncomfortably. He took a deep breath, stood up slowly, and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was pale, with deep dark circles under his eyes, his gaze lost.
"Fifteen times, Stephen. Fifteen times screaming into the void," he murmured to himself.

In the library, Wong, predictable as always, began with his usual sentence:
"Good morning, Strange. I have some texts—
" "I know," Stephen said quietly, without looking at him. "And… sorry about yesterday."

Wong looked up, confused.
"Yesterday?"
Stephen gave a half-smile without joy. "Forget it."

He left the Sanctum, the cold New York air hitting his face. The city seemed to mock him, alive and dead at the same time.

He walked to the side balcony, where he knew Tony would appear—always with the same timing, the same coffee, the same joke.
And, as the clock showed the exact minute, there he was.

Tony emerged from the shadows of the gate, balancing two cups of coffee and sporting the same tired smile.
"Guess who brought caffeine and billionaire charm to your mystical morning?"

Stephen looked at him for a moment, his heart clenching.
That was the same voice he had shouted at the day before.
The same look he had pushed away.
But Tony, as always, didn't remember.

"Good morning, Tony," she said in a lower, almost serene tone.
Tony frowned. "Good morning? Strange to hear you without sarcasm. Should I be worried?"

Stephen let out a small laugh. "Maybe a little."

Tony approached, extending the cup. "Extra strong coffee. I thought you might need it."

Stephen picked up the glass, his fingers brushing lightly against Tony's. The warmth spread across his skin—subtle, but real.
"Thank you," he murmured.

Tony observed him for a moment. "Is everything alright, doctor? You seem... different."

Stephen took a deep breath. "Just... tired."

"I understand perfectly," Tony sighed, leaning against the railing. "The whole world is expecting us to save everything, and nobody asks if we sleep, right?"

"Sleeping seems... pointless lately," Stephen replied, almost ironically.

Tony turned to him, trying to read his face. "If you want, I can teach you how to pretend to be normal. I'm an expert at it."

Stephen smiled slightly. "I don't doubt it. You seem to have been practicing since MIT."

Tony laughed, and the sound, for a moment, broke the monotony of the loop.
Stephen watched him, his gaze softer than in previous days. With each cycle, Tony repeated the same lines, but each word seemed new to Stephen—alive, unique, precious.

When Tony said goodbye with the usual "See you tomorrow, wizard," Stephen didn't feel angry.

And when the world restarted, the rain began again.
7:23.
The same day, the same curse.

________

Loop 24

The world began again.
7:23.
Light rain, the smell of dampness, the same voices.

Stephen opened his eyes and lay there for long seconds, staring at the ceiling. He no longer felt the shock of waking up on the same day. Now it was just irritation—and a weariness that seemed to corrode his spirit.

"Twenty-four…" he murmured, rising slowly. "How fun."

His hands ached, the old cut still open, and his head throbbed as if time itself were trying to crush him from the inside out.

Wong greeted him with the same “Good morning, Strange,” and he only responded with a vague gesture, not even hearing the rest of the sentence.
Stephen crossed the Sanctum without even taking the tea. He put on his cloak, opened a portal, and left.

The cold New York air hit him immediately. The streets were crowded, vibrant, indifferent—as if mocking him. He decided, without any plan, to simply walk.

Each step hurt a little, his body heavy, but he continued. He tried to blend into the city's movement, observing faces, cars, the distant sound of sirens.
Nothing changed.

That's when he heard screams on the corner.
Small explosions, webs cutting through the air.

"Great," he murmured. "Perhaps some new excitement."

As he turned the corner, he saw Spider-Man — Peter — fighting off a group of armed robbers in front of a jewelry store. The boy, agile and precise, already had the situation under control.

But Stephen, tired of the repetition, decided to act anyway.
He opened a portal and appeared behind one of the bandits, casting a containment spell. The man was forcefully pushed against the wall, groaning.

Peter looked startled. "Doctor Strange?! What... what are you doing here? I'm dealing with this!"

"Great work, but I thought you could speed up the process," Stephen replied, with forced calm.

The boy blinked, confused. "I was already speeding up!"

Stephen simply raised an eyebrow and restrained another assailant with magic.
The two finished their fight in seconds.

Peter stood still, breathing deeply, trying to understand.
"Are you okay? You seem kind of... — he hesitated — ...tired."

Stephen laughed, but the sound was humorless. "I'm stuck in a nightmare, kid. So, yeah, tired is a good word for it."

Peter looked even more confused, but before he could ask, Stephen opened another portal and disappeared.

Back at the Sanctum, he sat on the stairs, his head resting in his hands.
He felt increasingly fragmented—as if each loop left a piece of him behind.

When Tony appeared in the afternoon, as usual, Stephen didn't react.
The billionaire made his customary entrance, coffee in hand, easy smile.

"Guess who survived yet another Stark Industries board meeting?" Tony said, setting his glass down on the table. "Hint: I'm still incredibly handsome."

Stephen looked up. He was so tired he couldn't even feign sarcasm. "Congratulations on surviving, Tony."

Tony froze mid-gesture. His smile slowly faded. "Wow. You look... — he searched for the word — ...dead inside. What's going on, Strange?"

Stephen chuckled softly.

Tony sighed, pulling up a chair. "You know, if you want to talk about whatever's bothering you..."

But the world was already beginning to dissolve.
The rain returned.
7:23.

Stephen closed his eyes, murmuring
, "I've tried everything..."

________

 Loop 25

Stephen opened his eyes slowly. His head throbbed, but this time he didn't sit up immediately. He lay there, staring at the ceiling.
"Twenty-five," he murmured. "Bring on the repeats."

His hands trembled, the cut on his palm was beginning to heal, but the pain still throbbed. He stood up slowly, limping slightly—his knee complained more with each attempt.

This time, he didn't go to the library.
He ignored the tea, ignored Wong, ignored the predictability of the "good morning," and opened a portal straight to the Sanctum's terrace.
There, he waited.

The cold wind made him tighten his cloak around himself. He knew what was coming next.
And, at the exact moment, Tony appeared.

The billionaire appeared as if time obeyed him—light step, tired expression, coffee in hand.
"Ah, there you are. Starting the day with a dramatic pose, doctor?" Tony joked, resting his elbow on the railing.

Stephen observed him for a long moment before replying:
"Dramatic is relative," he murmured, with a discreet smile. "You're always three minutes late, you know?"

Tony blinked, surprised. "Wow, you're timing how long it takes me to get there? Is that... cute or creepy?"

"It depends on the point of view," Stephen replied, taking the cup of coffee Tony offered.

They stood side by side for a while, watching the city bustle below. Tony talked about some clean energy upgrade, about Peter and the new, improved webs, but Stephen barely listened.
He was studying Tony's every gesture, every breath, every tiny movement—as if trying to memorize what time insisted on erasing.

"You're acting strange today," Tony said suddenly. "Too quiet, even for you."

Stephen took a deep breath. "Maybe I'm just... tired of talking and not being heard."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "That was a bit too philosophical for this time of the morning."

"I've had plenty of time to think," the wizard replied, taking a sip of his coffee.

Tony watched him in silence. There was concern there—and a curiosity that Stephen recognized well.

"If you want to talk, I'm here," Tony said, almost politely.

Stephen turned to him. Tony's gaze seemed genuinely present, alive, and for a moment, the wizard forgot the loop.
"I know, Tony," he replied softly. "You always are."

Tony smiled, not understanding the weight of those words. "Of course. That's what friends do, right?"

The word "friends" pierced Stephen like a cold blade.
He looked away, trying to hide it.

— Yes. Friends. — he murmured.

Tony gave him a light tap on the shoulder. "So, what do you think about having lunch out today? Pepper will kill me if she finds out I forgot another meeting, but... I can use the 'urgent mystical problem' as an excuse."

Stephen almost laughed. "That's the most useful excuse I've ever given you."

And so, he spent the rest of the day with Tony.
They walked the streets, had coffee again, laughed at old jokes. For a brief moment, Stephen felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: peace.

As the sun began to set, Tony waved goodbye in his usual way:
"See you tomorrow, wizard."

Stephen watched him walk away, his heart clenching with a mixture of tenderness and despair.
"I know you will," he replied softly.

________

Loop 30

7:23.
The rain.
Always the same.

The sound of the raindrops against the windows no longer bothered him—only resignation. Stephen woke up with a heavy body, his hands throbbing, and the old cut transformed into a thin, almost healed line.
It was the thirtieth day.
Thirty repetitions. Thirty attempts.

"What irony…" he murmured, staring at his own reflection in the mirror. "Time, the most malleable of elements, now chains me."

Wong greeted him in the library, but Stephen merely nodded, without exchanging a word. He no longer saw any point in repeating dialogues that never changed.

At least Tony was changing.
Or rather, Stephen was changing in Tony's presence.

He waited on the terrace, as he always did. And, like perfect clockwork, Tony appeared—coffee in hand, easy smile, hair tousled by the wind.

Good morning, wizard. I bet you still haven't invented a spell for sleeping properly.

Stephen gave a small smile. "And you still haven't invented a new heart, I imagine."

Tony laughed, patting his chest lightly. "To touch on emotional wounds so early on, how cruel."

They sat side by side, watching the gray New York skyline. The world seemed suspended, trapped between seconds that never truly moved forward.

Stephen watched him intently. Every movement, every phrase was already etched in his memory—but each time, the meaning changed.

Tony talked about Peter, about a conference, about anything trivial. But Stephen could no longer concentrate on the words. The sound of Tony's voice was the only point of truth amidst the repetition.

And then, without thinking, he took a deep breath.
His heart raced.
His fingers trembled.

"Tony..." he began, hesitantly.

The other turned to him, curious, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Stephen stammered, the words caught in his throat. "I... I lo—"

The sound of the world distorted.
The air vibrated, as if time itself had collapsed.
Tony froze, the smile still on his face, his eyes fixed—motionless.

And then everything fell apart.

The rain fell harder, the ground disappeared beneath their feet, and the Sanctum crumbled into golden particles.
The clock's ticking sounded, dry and cruel.

7:23.

Stephen gasped, sitting up in bed, his heart racing.
The same day.
The same beginning.

________

Loop 31

Again.

The same drops hitting the glass, the same clock marking the same second.
But something inside it was no longer the same.

He stood up abruptly, ignoring Wong, ignoring the untouched coffee on the table. His hands trembled—not from pain, but from frustration.

"Not this time," he murmured to himself, leaving the Sanctum.

The cold air hit him as soon as he opened the door.
And, as always, Tony was there—standing on the sidewalk, balancing two coffees and with his usual smile.

"Dr. Disaster, I thought you were going to make me wait again." Tony raised his glass jokingly. "Extra strong, no sugar. I know that's what keeps your mood bearable."

Stephen approached quickly. His heart was pounding.
He didn't respond to the joke. He just stared at him.

Tony blinked, confused. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Stephen took a deep breath. "Tony, I... need to tell you something."

Tony's gaze softened, somewhat surprised. "Okay... that sounds serious. You can talk."

— I love you—

A snap.

The world folded in on itself.
The air exploded in a sharp sound, and the surrounding light shattered into golden reflections.

"No!" Stephen shouted, trying to resist, but time was pulling everything back like a current.
The coffee slipped from Tony's hands, freezing in mid-air.
The wind stopped.
The sound died.

And the clock struck.

7:23.

Stephen opened his eyes with a start.
He was back in bed, his heart racing, his body covered in cold sweat.
His hands throbbed so much he could barely close them.

He brought one of them to his face, breathing heavily.
"What kind of prison is this...?"

Silence answered.
And the rain began again.

________

Loop 40

7:23.
The same rain. The same cold. The same sound of pages being turned in the library.

Stephen was no longer afraid of starting again—he simply accepted it. The weariness was so profound it seemed a part of him.
The cup in his hands trembled, not only from the pain, but from the exhausting repetition.

"Good morning, Strange," Wong replied, without looking up. "I have some texts about dimensional portals to review."

Stephen looked at him for a long second and simply replied:
"Of course it does."

Wong looked up, confused, but Stephen was already walking away.
There was no anger, no irony—just a controlled emptiness.

Minutes later, the metallic sound of the gate announced the arrival he already knew by heart.

Tony Stark appeared in the library with the same firm step and a tired smile. He carried a cup of coffee—which would soon be forgotten on the table.
The same conversation began: anomalies in Greenwich, mystical theories, provocations that were repeated word for word.

But this time, Stephen didn't respond in the same way.

While Tony spoke, gesturing as always, the magician simply observed him.
Every movement, every expression—as if trying to record every detail of the man that time insisted on returning to him only to take him away again.

Tony paused, noticing the intense gaze.
"What is it? Do I have something on my face?"

Stephen gave a slight smile. "I was just... paying attention."

"Me?" Tony raised an eyebrow, amused. "That's new."

"That's right," Stephen murmured, and moved a little closer.

Tony frowned. "Is everything alright, doc?"

Instead of answering, Stephen simply adjusted his shirt collar, almost automatically. A small gesture, but full of care.
Tony blinked, surprised.
"You just... adjusted my clothes?"

Stephen feigned distraction. "It was crooked. Annoying."

"And you were bothered enough to touch me?" Tony teased, his smile returning.

Stephen looked away, hiding a slight blush. "You never get used to it."

Tony chuckled softly. "Oh, sure. But listen..." He leaned in, with that playful tone. "If I have to get ready every time, maybe I'll show up earlier next time."

Stephen felt a tightening in his chest.
The urge to laugh, to cry, to scream—it was all mixed together.

He simply replied:
"I'll hold you to that promise, Tony."

Tony nodded, pleased with the response, and went back to talking about Greenwich, gesturing with his coffee.
Stephen observed every detail, trying to transform gestures into words that time wouldn't allow him to say.

Perhaps, if he couldn't confess... he could show it.

The way he looked at him, the way he listened, the way he let the silence speak what the universe insisted on keeping silent.

And for a moment, even trapped in the same day, Stephen felt something inside him stir—as if that small, simple, human gesture were more powerful than any spell.

________

Loop 45

The sound of the rain seemed to mock him. Always the same. Always the same.
Stephen was no longer frightened when the world restarted—he simply took a deep breath, waited for the echo of time to suffocate him, and began again.

But in that forty-fifth cycle, something inside him finally broke.

His hands trembled more than usual, and pain was a constant companion, throbbing along with frustration.
He no longer had the patience for the enigmas of fate, nor for the same conversations with Wong, the same jokes from Tony.

He wanted to put an end to it.
He wanted to say something.
Even if time punished him for it.

Tony arrived as usual—same coffee, same smile, same tired glint in his eyes.
“Doctor, I thought you were going to ignore me again today,” Tony said, setting his cup down on the table. “Greenwich’s still a mess, and—”

"Damn it, Tony!" Stephen interrupted him, his voice thick with irritation and despair.

Tony blinked, surprised. "Okay, good morning to you too, doc."

"You're a genius, but you're so slow sometimes!" Stephen took a step forward, his eyes glistening with frustration.

Tony raised his hands, half laughing, half offended. "Wow, is that a compliment or a criticism?"

"Don't you understand, Tony?" Stephen's voice wavered. "I've been trying... showing, saying everything I can! I—"

Tony frowned, confused. "Trying what?"

Stephen took a deep breath, his heart racing. The air seemed trapped, time suspended.
— What... what love—

And then, silence.

The coffee cup fell from the table, the steam froze in the air, and the world folded in on itself.

Everything went dark.

7:23.
Light rain. Sore hands. Same day.

But now, the frustration burned like fire.

Stephen stood still for long seconds, breathing heavily, the echo of the cut-off sentence still vibrating in his throat.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, murmuring:
"Are you listening to me, universe? I'm going to make it, even if it takes a thousand times."

And in the reflection of the window, he saw the same tired face as always—but with a new spark in its eyes. Determination.

He would try again.
And again.
Until time ran out.

________

Loop 50

7:23.
The rain.
The cold.
The same trapped air between the minutes.

Stephen woke up feeling his hands heavy and throbbing. He no longer knew if it was from chronic pain or the weight of fifty repetitions that same day.
With each cycle, he felt further removed from reality—the memories became mixed up, and he was no longer sure what Tony had actually said once and what he had only repeated dozens of times.

But, in that loop, Stephen decided to try one more time—without words.
If time punished him when he spoke, perhaps he could win with a gesture.

Wong greeted him as usual, but Stephen didn't respond. He simply walked past him, letting his tea cool on the table.
Everything that mattered came later.

And, as predicted, the metallic sound of the Sanctum door echoed at the same time as always.

Tony Stark appeared, like a human clock, the same tired smile on his lips and a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
"Doctor Mystery! I was thinking I'd have to send a raven to summon you," Tony joked, setting his cup down on the table. "Ready to resolve the chaos in Greenwich or are you still philosophizing about time?"

Stephen simply observed him. Tony's voice, his light tone, his automatic humor—everything was so similar, and yet, so precious.

— Tony. — he called, in a calm, almost serene tone.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "Wow, you've got a serious expression even by your standards, doc."

Instead of answering, Stephen took a step forward.
The coffee was forgotten between them.

The wizard raised one hand—his fingers trembling slightly—and adjusted Tony's tie, a simple, almost intimate gesture.
Tony froze in surprise.

"What are you doing?" he asked, half laughing, half uncomfortable.

"Adjusting it," Stephen replied. "It was... out of alignment."

Tony blinked. "You and your obsessive fixation on symmetry..."

Stephen let out a discreet sigh, his eyes fixed on Tony's. The next gesture was even bolder: he took the handkerchief from his own pocket—the same one he used for all the loops—and carefully wiped away a drop of coffee that was trickling down the corner of Tony's mouth.

The touch was light, almost reverent.

Tony stood still.
Their brown eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to almost stop—but not by magic.

"Strange..." Tony murmured, with a confused half-smile. "You're... even strange to yourself."

Stephen replied with a faint smile. "You have no idea."

Tony laughed, thinking it was a joke. "Okay, wizard. Just don't come at me with a forced intimacy spell."

"You wouldn't need magic for that," he replied, too quietly for Tony to hear.

The rest of the conversation was the same.
Tony talked about the anomaly. Stephen responded mechanically.
But, while Tony gestured, Stephen didn't take his eyes off him—memorizing every detail, as if his gaze were the only way to confess what words wouldn't let out.

And when Tony said goodbye, with the inevitable "See you tomorrow, wizard," Stephen simply replied:
"I hope you do."

The rain started again.
The weather doubled.

7:23.
All over again.

________

Loop 80

7:23.
The sound of the rain was distant, muffled. As if the world were tired of repeating itself along with it.

Stephen opened his eyes slowly, his eyelids heavy. He no longer knew how many days passed within the same dawn—only that the number 80 weighed like a lifetime.

The pain in his hands accompanied him like old companions. Every nerve throbbed, reminding him that, contrary to the passage of time, he was still human.

In the library, Wong, predictable as the start of the rain, said the same words:
"Good morning, Strange. I have some texts about dimensional portals to review."

Stephen paused.
In that cycle, he didn't want to run away. Nor did he want to get angry. He wanted to try to understand.

He approached slowly, leaning against one of the shelves.
"Wong…" he began, his voice hoarse from so many attempts. "Tell me something."

Wong looked up.
"What is it?"

Stephen took a deep breath.
"How does someone... show what they feel? I mean, love. Without using words."

Wong blinked, confused. "Are you asking about... romance?"

"I'm asking about gestures," Stephen corrected, his gaze tired but attentive. "About when saying something is impossible, but you want the other person to understand."

Wong studied it for a moment, clearly not understanding the context.
"There are many ways, I suppose," he replied, turning his gaze back to the book. "Caring. Being present. Showing that you care, even without saying it."

Stephen tilted his head. "Showing that you care..."

"Yes." Wong calmly flipped through the pages. "Love is attention. And patience. Even when the other person is... difficult."

Stephen let out a small, muffled laugh. "Then I'm doomed."

"What did you say?" Wong asked.

"Nothing," Stephen murmured, turning to leave.

As he walked through the corridors of the Sanctum, his mind lingered on his friend's words.
"Care. Be present. Show that you care."
Tony always saw him as distant, arrogant—but perhaps he could change that. Show, not tell.

Later, at the usual time, Tony appeared at the door.
Even knowing this, Stephen felt his heart beat faster.

"Wizard!" Tony called, the same smile on his face. "I brought coffee. This time with a touch of cinnamon, because I'm a genius who understands aromatic magic."

Stephen accepted the glass with a calmer look than usual.
Tony noticed the difference.

— Is everything alright, doc? You seem… less grumpy today.

"I'm... trying something new," Stephen said simply.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Stephen hesitated, then handed the coffee back.
"You worry too much about me. Have yours first."

Tony laughed. "Careful, wizard, you'll look like you have a heart."

— Perhaps there is. — he replied softly, his gaze steady.

Tony paused for a moment, surprised. — …Okay, now I'm even uncomfortable.

Stephen simply smiled. A small, sincere gesture—the kind of smile Tony didn't see often.
And before he could turn the moment into a joke, Stephen touched his arm—lightly, almost imperceptibly. A simple gesture, but full of meaning.

Tony looked at his hand, then at Stephen, and for a moment seemed to want to say something.

Tony just laughed, turning away. "Careful, doctor. If you keep this up, you'll end up ruining your reputation."

Stephen replied calmly, "I think I can live with that."

>>

Tony was still there, talking nonstop about residual energy, gesturing wildly, stumbling over his own words and ideas. But now… Stephen could truly see him.

The sound of Tony's laughter—that quick, slightly hoarse laugh—pierced the silence of the room, and Stephen felt a tightening in his chest.
Before, it had been just familiar noise, part of the routine. Now, it was life.

Tony leaned across the table to reveal a hologram, his hair disheveled and falling over his forehead, his shirt collar crooked—a perfectly human disarray amidst all the genius.
And Stephen found himself… smiling.

Not ironically.
But because the man in front of him was a mess that he was beginning to find beautiful.

"What are you looking at, wizard?" Tony asked, without looking up, preoccupied with the projected data.

Stephen looked away too quickly, feeling his face heat up. "Nothing. Just... thinking."

"Oh, great." Tony laughed, shaking his head. "It's dangerous when I overthink things, imagine you."

Stephen feigned a grumble, but the truth was he wanted to keep looking.
The laughter, the glint in his eye, the way Tony frowned when something intrigued him—all these little details had become beacons in the repetitive chaos of time.

Each cycle, each turn, each identical day made him notice more.
What was once mere curiosity now grew into something real, solid, inevitable.

Tony was talking about "warp field theory" and "quantum logic applied to anomalies," and Stephen could only think about how... alive he was.

"Tony…" she murmured, almost without realizing it.

— Hm? — replied the other, distracted, fiddling with the hologram.

Stephen simply smiled, tired and delighted. — Nothing.

Tony stared at him for a moment, raising an eyebrow. "You've been acting very enigmatic lately, Strange. Should I be worried?"

"Perhaps," Stephen replied sincerely. "But not for the reasons you think."

Tony chuckled softly, returning to his work.
And Stephen watched him, with the feeling that even if the loop trapped him there for all eternity… he could endure it.
As long as Tony was there with him.

________

Loop 100

The morning began like all the others.
The same raindrops running down the window.
The same "Good morning, Strange," from Wong, said in the same tone.
The same cold coffee that Tony left on the table.

But inside Stephen, something had changed.
There was no more room for patience, nor for fear.
One hundred repetitions. One hundred days trapped in the same cycle. One hundred frustrated attempts to speak, to demonstrate, to break the invisible prison.

The wizard was tired — not of living the same day over and over again, but of not experiencing anything different.

Tony entered the Sanctum right on time, as always.
His coat was wet, his hair disheveled from the rain, and his smile—that smile—was the same one Stephen had seen a hundred times.
But still, the wizard's heart beat faster.

"Guess who brought coffee and genius to brighten your day, Merlin," Tony said, his voice light, the same playful tone Stephen knew by heart.

Stephen didn't answer.
He just watched him in silence.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Uh-oh... why are you looking at me like that? Did I do something wrong?"

Stephen took a step forward.
One.
Then another.

Tony stepped back slightly, confused. "Doctor? Is everything alright?"

Stephen took a deep breath, his chest aching with emotion and exhaustion. "I'm stuck, Tony. Stuck on this damn day. It's happened a hundred times already. A hundred. And nothing changes."

Tony blinked, half laughing, half worried. "You're kidding, right? Is this some kind of mystical test?"

"No," Stephen said, his voice firm, his gaze intense. "And if it is, I'm tired of it."

Before Tony could say anything, Stephen cupped his face in his hands—his fingers trembling with pain, emotion, and fear—and kissed him.

It was a quick, almost desperate kiss. A cry for help.
A rupture in the timeline.

Tony stood motionless.
The coffee fell from his hand, the muffled sound against the floor echoing like thunder.

For a moment, everything was silent.
The rain stopped falling.
Time seemed to hold its breath along with them.

When Stephen walked away, Tony's eyes were still wide, his face confused, but... not angry.
Just lost.

"What... what was that?" Tony murmured, touching his own lips, as if the gesture still burned.

Stephen gave a sad half-smile. "Something I should have done a long time ago."

Tony was still motionless, the taste of the kiss lingering in his mouth, his brain processing what had just happened far too slowly. The coffee spilled on the floor evaporated under the silent spell of the Sanctum, but neither of them seemed to notice.

Stephen, on the other hand, was breathing heavily—not from the effort, but from the avalanche of feelings overwhelming him. One hundred days of repetitions, of swallowed words, of frustrated attempts, and now… it was all there, naked, raw, between them.

"Tony…" her voice came out hoarse and trembling. "I love you."

The silence that followed seemed endless.
Tony blinked, his gaze wavering between confusion and disbelief.

"Wow, wait..." he raised a hand, as if he needed to physically stop the weight of his words. "Hold on, Strange. Don't you think you're a little... quick to fall in love with me?"

He tried to laugh, but the sound died before it could come out. There was something in Stephen's gaze that made him stop.

The wizard simply stared at him, his eyes brimming with tears, his hands still trembling. "Fast? Tony... for you, maybe. But for me... it's been a long time."

Tony frowned. "What does that mean?"

Stephen looked away, his heart racing. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to say everything—about the loop, about the hundred identical days, about how watching Tony had destroyed and rebuilt him so many times. But the words seemed stuck in his throat, choked by the force of the confession itself.

Tony stepped forward, his face softening slightly. "Hey…" he said, more quietly. "I'm not angry. Just… taken by surprise."

Stephen laughed, a sound almost broken. "I was too, at first."

For a moment, the two just looked at each other. Tony, trying to understand something impossible. Stephen, trying to hold back tears.

Tony still seemed lost, but Stephen didn't allow for questions. Impulse overcame him—he simply pulled him close, enveloping him in a tight embrace, as if the warmth of that contact could sustain the entire world.

Tony reflexively stiffened for a second… and then relaxed.
His arms slowly, hesitantly, rose until they rested on Stephen's back.

For a moment, time seemed to bend — as if, there, between the touch and the silence, the loop had forgotten its own purpose.

"I really... wasn't expecting this today," Tony murmured, half laughing, half nervous, his face hidden in Stephen's shoulder.

"Neither do I," replied the wizard, his voice low but sincere.

The rest of the day passed differently.
They sat on the library sofa, side by side. Tony talked—about inventions, about Peter, about a new Stark Industries project that “definitely wouldn’t explode” (according to him). Stephen listened, a discreet smile playing at the corner of his lips, absorbing every detail, every inflection of the voice he already knew so well.

From time to time, Tony would cast curious glances at him—not out of bewilderment, but out of genuine curiosity, as if he were trying to decipher something he couldn't name.

The sun set behind the windows of the Sanctum, tinging the air with gold.
Stephen felt his heart clench—he knew that the end of the day meant the inevitable restart.

Tony stood up, adjusting his coat, his gaze still light.
"Well, doctor…" he began, picking up the forgotten cup. "It was an interesting day."

Stephen simply smiled. "Is that good or bad?"

"It depends," Tony replied, already at the door, turning to face him. His smile was crooked, somewhat provocative. "I hope that next time you'll take me on a date, Sabrina."

Stephen blinked, surprised by the joke—the affectionate, playful tone, but with something new. Something alive.

Tony nodded, turning to leave.
The door closed, the echo of his laughter still dancing in the air.

Stephen stood still, his heart racing, his fingers still trembling.

________

Stephen awoke to the soft morning light filtering through the windows of the Sanctum.
The rain had stopped.
For a moment, he lay there, waiting for the familiar sound—the ticking of the clock at 7:23, the repeated echo of the same words.
But the silence was different. Alive.

He sat up slowly, his heart racing. Something felt… out of place, as if the world had shifted while he slept.

She descended the stairs slowly.
The library was silent, but empty. Wong wasn't in his usual spot, nor was there the comforting sound of pages being turned.

Stephen frowned and paced the Sanctum, the echo of his sandals cutting through the still air.
He found Wong in the kitchen, engrossed in preparing tea.

"You're not reading texts about dimensional portals, are you?" Stephen asked, his tone somewhere between astonishment and suspicion.

Wong looked up, relieved. "I've already done that."

The answer was simple.
But for Stephen, it was as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet.

"I've already done that."
That wasn't what he should have said.
It couldn't have been what he said.

"Wong…" Stephen began, but his voice faltered.
The older wizard simply looked back at him, unsure of his unease.

The rest of the day passed in uncomfortable silence. Stephen waited.
He waited for the exact moment, the right minute, the appointed hour.
Tony always showed up at 3:37 PM.

But time passed.
And he didn't come.

The unease grew like a tide. Stephen paced back and forth, each minute echoing like a warning. Until, without further hesitation, he traced the gestures in the air—the portal opened, sparkling with gold.

On the other side, Stark Tower.
Tony was on the couch, reclining casually, manipulating a floating blue hologram. Peter Parker, next to him, was excitedly explaining something about "quantum frequency adjustments."

The portal opened with its characteristic sound, and they both turned around, surprised.

Tony nearly knocked the hologram over. "Jesus, Strange!" he exclaimed, placing his hand on his chest theatrically. "I have heart problems, you know? Do you want to kill me?"

Stephen exhaled with a half-smile—relief and disbelief mixed together.
"You didn't go to the Sanctum today."

Tony blinked, frowning. "Ah, I went yesterday."

Time seemed to stand still.
The sentence struck Stephen like an electric shock.

"Yesterday."

He approached slowly, his breath caught. "Tony... what's the date today?"

Tony looked at the hologram, then at Peter. "Uh... it's the 13th. Why?"

Stephen felt his legs weaken.
The air hurt his lungs.

Day 13.
Time passed.

Peter looked confused between the two. "Is everything alright, doctor?"

Stephen simply smiled. A fragile, but genuine smile.
"Yes, Peter. Everything's... fine."

Tony watched him, somewhat disconcerted. "What was that? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Stephen let out a muffled laugh, looking at him with teary eyes. "In a way... I did see it."

The silence between them lasted a few seconds, broken only by the faint hum of the Tower's holograms.
Stephen could still feel his heart racing, the echo of a hundred days—a hundred lives—vibrating on his skin.
But now… it was different.
The world was alive, in motion.

Tony looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Is everything really alright, doctor? You're staring at me like I've just been resurrected."

Stephen blinked, took a deep breath, and… smiled. A rare, genuine smile.
“You have no idea, Tony.”

Peter, curious, tilted his head. "What happened?"

"Nothing much, Peter," Tony said, laughing. "I think the doctor has finally learned the value of a good coffee and eight hours of sleep."

Stephen chuckled softly, and before he could think twice, the words came out.
"Tony, do you want to... go out with me?"

The hologram flickered, Tony froze. Literally.
Peter's eyes widened, and a second later a huge smile appeared on his face.

"Wait... a date? Like... a date date?" the boy asked excitedly.

Stephen looked at him, amused. "Yes, Peter. A date date."

Tony blinked a few times, as if his mental processor was rebooting.
"Wow, calm down, doctor... You really get straight to the point, huh?"

Stephen shrugged, with a calmness that even time itself had failed to break.
"After waiting so long, I figured it wasn't worth delaying."

Tony looked at him for a long moment.
And, for the first time, something in his eyes softened—a spark of something more.
“Okay, Stephen. You’ve convinced me. But let me warn you: I get to choose the restaurant.”

Peter raised his arms excitedly. "Finally! I knew it!"
They both looked at him, and Peter laughed, embarrassed. "I mean... I suspected as much."

Tony shook his head, laughing, while Stephen just watched him, his heart light.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't need to think about tomorrow.
Because, finally, tomorrow existed.