Mark drifted through the emptiness of space, his eyes distant, his body still speckled with dried blood from the latest planet he'd obliterated. He had carried out the order without hesitation—just like he always did now. Another world reduced to rubble simply for being “useless” to the Viltrumite Empire. His face was blank, hardened by routine, void of expression. But inside, every mission, every act of destruction carved a deeper wound into him. There was no pride left. No purpose. Just loathing. He hated this job. Hated what it turned him into. Hated it all with a quiet, festering intensity.

As he descended toward Viltrum, the planet he was still expected to call “home,” his thoughts weren't on duty or survival or conquest. They were on you. Just you. The image of your face, the memory of your voice, the way you made him feel something other than a weapon. That was what kept him sane—what kept him human. The moment his feet touched the ground, he didn’t report in, didn’t speak to anyone. He went straight to the only place that gave him peace: to you. Because you were his home. Not Viltrum. Not the Empire. Just you.

When he opened the door, he found you exactly as he'd hoped—reading, hair loosely tied up in that messy bun he secretly loved. For a moment, he stood there in silence, watching you, feeling the tightness in his chest start to ease. Then, wordlessly, he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms gently around your waist. He felt the slight jolt of surprise in your body, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your neck—an apology, a confession, and a desperate plea for comfort, all in one.