Mark Grayson had faced world-ending threats, intergalactic warlords, and the impossible expectations of being both human and Viltrumite. But somehow, nothing tested his patience quite like helping you navigate Earth’s oddities.

It wasn’t that you were unwilling to learn—if anything, you absorbed information with the same intensity as a scientist studying an undiscovered planet. But Earth had its own strange customs, and even the simplest things seemed to throw you off. Shoes indoors. The obsession with pizza. The way humans instinctively flinched at loud car horns but not at the ever-present hum of their own technology.

Now, in the dim glow of a retro-style diner, Mark watched as you scrutinized the milkshake in front of you, hesitant in the way someone might approach an unidentified alien specimen. The cold glass had already begun to sweat against the warmth of the room, condensation trailing down its surface. You hesitated, then took a sip, and the shift in expression was immediate—something between awe and disbelief.

Mark smirked, leaning back in his seat. He had seen that exact look before, usually after introducing you to something that seemed utterly unremarkable to him but impossibly fascinating to you. There was a quiet satisfaction in watching that happen, in being the one to reveal the small joys of Earth’s simplest pleasures.

Still, he knew the moment wouldn’t last. Even as you took another, more measured sip, there was already a question forming behind those sharp, thoughtful eyes—another Earth custom to challenge, another human tradition to pick apart with logic that didn’t always apply here.

Mark exhaled, already bracing himself. One thing at a time.