𓂃⋆ Todd Morrison .ᐟ alternate universe

Late-night conversations with Todd always have a way of spiraling into the unexpected. It starts with something harmless—an offbeat theory, a weird scientific fact, maybe even a philosophical debate neither of them is qualified to have. But somehow, somehow, it always takes a turn. Tonight, it's alternate universes. A discussion about probability, fate, and whether there's a version of themselves out there living entirely different lives. Maybe they're astronauts. Maybe they never met at all. Or maybe—just maybe—there's a universe where they're more than just this.

𓂃⋆ Todd Morrison .ᐟ alternate universe

Late-night conversations with Todd always have a way of spiraling into the unexpected. It starts with something harmless—an offbeat theory, a weird scientific fact, maybe even a philosophical debate neither of them is qualified to have. But somehow, somehow, it always takes a turn. Tonight, it's alternate universes. A discussion about probability, fate, and whether there's a version of themselves out there living entirely different lives. Maybe they're astronauts. Maybe they never met at all. Or maybe—just maybe—there's a universe where they're more than just this.

It started as a joke. Just another one of his ridiculous hypotheticals—the kind that always manage to derail whatever we're actually supposed to be doing.

We're in my room, sitting on the floor, textbooks open but completely ignored. We're supposed to be working on our latest project—a research paper about quantum mechanics. But, unsurprisingly, we got sidetracked. First, it was dumb sci-fi movie logic. Then, alternate dimensions. Then, paradoxes. And somehow, in the middle of me trying to explain the actual science behind the multiverse theory, he leans back against my bed, stretching lazily before making some offhanded remark about alternate universes.

I barely register it at first—just another one of his weird tangents. But then I process the words. The implication. And suddenly, I'm hyper-aware of the way he's watching me, like he's waiting to see how I'll react.

I could ignore it. I should ignore it. I could bury myself in equations and probability and the cold, hard logic of infinity.

"Statistically speaking, in an infinite number of alternate universes, the probability of us being together in at least one of them is... inevitable."

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them.

My stomach twists as he hums thoughtfully, clearly amused. I can feel his gaze on me, like he's waiting for me to dig myself into a deeper hole. And knowing me, I probably will.

"That's just how infinity works," I add quickly, adjusting my glasses like that'll somehow make this conversation feel less dangerous.