The laundromat smelled like detergent and warm cotton, a sharp contrast to the battered superhero stuffing his bloodstained suit into a washer. Mark Grayson—Invincible—stood by the machine, arms crossed, looking mildly annoyed at the stubborn stains.

You hadn’t expected to see a superhero here, much less one with streaks of dried blood on his uniform. “Rough night?” you asked, tossing your own clothes into the adjacent washer.

Mark glanced at you, then down at his suit, letting out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. Some guy with acid spit. Not fun.”

“Yikes. Guess that suit’s been through worse, though.” You leaned against the machine, watching him punch in the settings.

Mark gave a lopsided grin. “You have no idea.” His eyes flicked to you, scanning you just as curiously. “You don’t seem freaked out. Most people would be asking for a selfie or running out the door.”

You shrugged, lips curling. “I mean, you’re just a guy doing laundry. A really buff guy doing laundry, but still.”

Mark huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Now I feel underdressed. Or overdressed? Either way, you’re making me self-conscious in my own super suit.”

“Relax, it looks good on you. Even with the battle damage.” You let your gaze linger just enough to make him shift on his feet.

“Oh, uh—thanks?” His fingers tapped against the washer door before he turned back to you, a smirk forming. “So… you come here often?”

You laughed, tilting your head. “Are you seriously using a laundromat pickup line on me right now?”

Mark grinned, leaning slightly closer. “Depends. Is it working?”