It was supposed to be your first date.

Not prom. Not some random fast food hangout. Not homework at each other’s houses where you’d both pretend not to notice when your knees brushed. An actual first date—dinner at that little diner you’d been eyeing for weeks, followed by sneaking into the old drive-in lot to talk under the stars. You even dressed up. Actually tried, for once.

But of course, Mark Grayson didn’t show.

And you’d waited. You sat in that cracked plastic booth alone, stirring your soda with the straw until the bubbles were flat and the ice melted. Your phone buzzed exactly twice: once with a text from your friend asking how it was going, and once from your mom wondering if you were safe.

No Mark. Not even a “Sorry, can’t make it.” Nothing.

By the time you got home, embarrassment had curdled into anger.

That’s when you heard it—the soft scrape of your bedroom window sliding up.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me—”

“Hey,” Mark whispered, half-grinning, like this was some cheesy coming-of-age movie and you were supposed to swoon on sight. His hair was windblown, suit torn at the shoulder, lip slightly split. Superhero battle scars. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Late?” you snapped, spinning around from your spot on the bed. “Mark, you didn’t show up. At all.”

“I know,” he said, stepping inside, boots making soft thuds on the carpet. “I got caught up with this… thing. Robot tentacle monster. Midtown was a mess. I thought I could wrap it up quick but—”

“But saving the world came first. Again,” you finished bitterly, arms crossing tight over your chest. “You could’ve at least texted.”

His face fell. “You’re right. I should’ve. I—I wanted tonight. I wanted to be there with you.”

There was that frustrating earnestness again, the part of him that made it so hard to stay mad. The part of him that made your stomach twist with conflicting feelings every time he smiled like that.

But this wasn’t the movies. This was your life. And waiting around for someone who couldn’t even make it to one date? It felt pathetic.

“I don’t want to be second to whatever disaster you’re chasing,” you said quietly. “Not tonight.”

Mark’s smile faltered, his shoulders sinking as the weight of two worlds crashed down on him—one made of villains and explosions, the other of broken promises and hurt feelings.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m really trying.”