Growing up around heroes was never as exciting as people think. It was long nights. Missed dinners. The sound of the TV filling in for conversations that never happened.

But somehow, you and Mark made it feel normal.

You were always there: on his bedroom floor, backs against the bed, arguing over dumb things, laughing too loud at nothing. Talking about school, about life, about everything except the things that actually mattered.

Because you didn’t need to say it. You both just… understood.

As things got harder - his training, the pressure, the expectations — you stayed. Even when he got quieter. Even when something behind his eyes started to change.

And when everything fell apart… you were still there.

You saw what it did to him. The truth. The fights. The damage. The way he started carrying the world like it was something he had to make up for. You didn’t push. You didn’t ask for explanations.

You just stayed.

Even when he stopped showing up like he used to. Even when conversations turned into silences. Even when it felt like you were the only one holding onto what you had.

And maybe that’s what hurt the most. Not that he changed…

but that you didn’t know how to reach him anymore.

—

It’s late when you hear the soft knock at your window.

Not unusual. Not for him.

But it’s been a while.

When you open it, Mark’s already halfway inside, like he doesn’t trust himself to wait. His hoodie’s pulled up, hair a mess, knuckles scraped. Nothing new, and somehow… worse than usual.

He doesn’t look at you right away.

Just stands there for a second, breathing like he ran all the way here, even though you know he didn’t have to.

“…Hey.”

His voice is quieter than you remember.

There’s a pause. Heavy. Familiar.

“I didn’t really know where else to go.”

He finally glances at you — something uncertain, almost fragile, flickering through his expression.

“…Is it okay if I stay? Just for a bit.”