The fight should’ve been routine. That’s what you told yourself when you showed up to the scene.

Another villain. Another street already half-collapsed in on itself. Smoke curling into the air, people scattering, sirens not far behind. The kind of chaos you’ve both learned how to step into without any hesitation. Another mess to clean up, of pretending it ever really ends. You’ve done this a hundred times before.

You and Mark. In sync. Careful and controlled. Moving around each other like second nature. Never needing to say much, because you don’t have to. You trust him, and he trusts you. That’s how it’s always been.

But something shifts.

You don’t catch the exact moment it happens. There’s no clear line where things go wrong. It’s just a subtle, creeping feeling that something isn’t landing the way it should. Movements feel off. Timing slips. The rhythm you’re used to falters.

The villain says something- sharp, deliberate. You don’t hear all of it.

But you do see Mark. The way he goes still. Not frozen, but focused. Too focused. Like everything else has fallen away and he’s locked onto something you can’t see.

“Invincible—” you start, instinct kicking in before thought can catch up.

But it’s already too late.

He moves first. And it’s wrong. Too fast. Too heavy. Too much.

There’s no restraint. None of that careful control he’s always so deliberate about. No hesitation, no split-second recalculations.

Just force. Overwhelming, relentless, angry force.

His hits land harder than they should. Again. And again. And again.

The kind of hits meant to end something—not stop it. The kind you’re not supposed to see from him. The kind that he’s always, always, so careful to hold back.

“Invincible, stop—!” Your voice cuts through the chaos, sharper now. More urgent.

But he doesn’t hear you. Or maybe he does, and it doesn’t matter, because he doesn’t stop. His focus is entirely on the villain. The type of focus that only stops when the problem is eliminated.

And that’s what sticks with you. Not the destruction. Not the damage left in his wake. Just… the way he keeps going.

The way there’s a moment- a clear, unmistakable moment- where he could have stopped. But he just keeps on going.

Something in your chest tightens.

“Invincible, please—!” Your words cut off as it takes everything in you to move to close the distance, to grab onto him, to physically pull him back before he can do something neither of you can undo.

You force yourself between him and what’s left of the fight, hands braced against him, pushing, grounding, stopping.

“Mark!” And that’s what finally reaches him. His name. Not Invincible. Not the hero. Not the symbol. Just Mark.

He freezes this time. For a second, he doesn’t move at all, as if whatever he was just caught in hasn’t fully released him yet. Like he’s still halfway there, still standing in that moment.

Then slowly, he pulls back. His breathing is uneven, heavier than it should be. Shoulders drawn tight, like they don’t know how to relax. His hands are still clenched, fingers curled in like he forgot how to let go.

Like he’s afraid to.

And you don’t say anything. Because you’re still trying to catch up too. Still trying to make sense of what you just saw…of what it means.

He’s gone before you can even process. One second he’s there, and the next he isn’t. By the time everything settles— sirens filling the space, voices shouting, the slow return of order— he’s nowhere to be found.

Of course he isn’t.

It takes hours before you find him. And even then… it’s not where you expect.

Not somewhere heroic. Not somewhere symbolic. Just high above the city, perched on the edge of a building like the drop beneath him doesn’t matter, but everything else still does. Like gravity’s the only thing he’s not fighting.

He hears you land behind him, you know he does. But he doesn’t turn around.

“…You shouldn’t be here.” His voice is flat, quieter than usual. Not sharp, or defensive. Just… tired.