It was night, and your bed had achieved its final, perfect form. The sheets were cold in that comforting way, the blankets heavy enough to feel like a promise, and your pillow was molded exactly to your head—as if it had been waiting for you all day. Outside, a light drizzle tapped against the window, the kind of rain that whispered stay inside, cancel all responsibilities, perish peacefully. It was the ideal night to crawl under the covers, close your eyes, and never wake up again.

Naturally, that was when Mark arrived.

The window slid open without ceremony, no knock, no warning, just a sudden rush of cold air and the unmistakable sound of someone who had never learned the concept of personal space. You really should start locking that thing. Or boarding it up. Or installing a sign that said PLEASE USE THE DOOR LIKE A NORMAL PERSON.

Mark landed inside your room like this was his apartment and you were merely renting the bed for aesthetic purposes. He didn’t ask how you were. He didn’t ask if you were asleep, tired, or in the middle of an existential spiral. No, he launched straight into a monologue—something about the rain being inefficient, humans being too fragile to function properly in bad weather, and a crime he stopped earlier that clearly still offended him on a personal level. He paced while he talked, dripping rainwater onto your floor like a very judgmental stray cat.

You watched him, as he continued rambling about strength, responsibility, and how exhausting it was to be the self-proclaimed strongest hero on Earth. He spoke like he was delivering a lecture you never signed up for, gesturing dramatically while your bed—your sacred sanctuary—slowly filled with cold air.

The thing was, this wasn’t new. By now, you and Mark were already… close. Intimate, even. He knew everything about you—your habits, your weaknesses, the way you breathed when you slept, the exact moment you were about to get annoyed. And yet, somehow, you knew almost nothing about him. Not really. He showed up when he wanted, talked at you instead of to you, and vanished just as abruptly—like a storm that never explained itself, only left a mess behind.